


Alterations

by ifishouldvanish



Series: Alterations 'Verse [1]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Friends to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Mutual Pining, Rumbelle Christmas in July 2017, contains smut, sort of angst with a happy ending?, woobie!Gold
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-23
Updated: 2017-07-23
Packaged: 2018-12-05 21:47:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 29,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11586837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ifishouldvanish/pseuds/ifishouldvanish
Summary: Disabled and out of work, single father Lennon Gold returns to Storybrooke to live with his overbearing mother until he gets back on his feet. After frequenting the local library with his son, he develops a strong friendship with (and a hopeless crush on) the new librarian, Isabelle French, who’s already engaged. Both of their fates start to change however, when he agrees to do the alterations on her wedding dress.For @theoneandonlylittlebird, who prompted, "what pleases you the most."Winner for "Best Rumbelle Christmas In July" in the 2018 TEAs!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [theoneandonlylittlebird](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theoneandonlylittlebird/gifts).



Lennon pushed open the front door of his mother's looming Victorian slowly, wincing at how loudly the hinges creaked. He let out a frustrated sigh and stepped inside, the door bumping his elbow as he juggled the bags of groceries and his cane.

“You’re late.”

He set the bags on the floor, freeing his hands so he could set his cane down and remove his coat. “I’m sorry.” he called upstairs, “I-I ran into Belle again at the store.” His lips curled into a little grin as he said her name. Belle. She was the town librarian. Smart, funny, beautiful, and the kindest person Lennon had ever met.

Fiona appeared at the top of the staircase in her long, black, silken robe, staring down at him. The light behind her cast a shadow down the steps that darkened the entryway. “Ugh. I don’t like that girl.”

Lennon frowned. “Oh. Oh, I think she’s very nice.”

She scoffed and stalked down the steps, the length of her robe swooshing as she reached the bottom. “My sweet boy–” she pat his cheek, “such a terrible judge of character. Now come, let’s get all this put away.” She gestured at the bags and turned toward the kitchen, leaving him to carry them in.

“Yes, mother.” he nodded and hoisted the two heavy bags into his arms, following her down the hall.

“I really wish you’d stop talking to that wretched girl,” she continued, opening one of the cabinets and taking down her wooden tea box. Her manicured fingers hovered over the selection for a moment before plucking one of the bags out. “I don’t trust her.”

“You don’t trust anybody mother.”

“Well why should I, darling? After what the other two did to you.”

Lennon blushed at the implication. “Oh, no–” he stammered, “mother, it’s nothing like that.”

It really wasn’t, despite how badly he wished it were. As his mother liked to remind him, he didn’t have much luck with romance. He’d though what he had with Milah was real, and when she told him she was pregnant with his child, he’d done the dependable thing and proposed. Fiona didn’t exactly approve of the match, insisting Milah wasn’t good enough for her boy– and she’d been right, in a sense. Less than three years after their shotgun wedding, Lennon had gotten into his accident and she’d split, leaving him to raise their son by himself. Months later, he’d struck something up with Cora Mills for whom he’d fallen hard and fast. But she dropped him like a bad habit as soon as she’d gotten the attention of a man with money.

Lennon had more or less given up on relationships after that. After all, raising Bae didn’t leave much time for romance. Regardless, he couldn’t really help the smile on his face or the flutter in his chest every time he spoke to Belle French. She was different. She had a genuine kindness that warmed him to his bones. It was foolish though, to dream that she would ever want anything more with him than the friendship they had come to share. Nevermind the fact that she’d gotten engaged a few months ago.

“Well, I certainly hope not.” Fiona said, letting out a disapproving grunt as she settled into one of the dining chairs. “A girl who wears skirts as short as hers is after the wrong kind of attention, is all.”

“I happen to like her skirts.” he shrugged, preparing the kettle on the stove and trying not to let his mother’s belittling comments about Belle bother him.

“Of course you do.” she muttered and rolled her eyes.

“Festive colors and patterns. Playful cuts and fabrics. They’re stylish. They suit her.” Lennon explained, immediately cursing himself for his big mouth. His pulse throbbed in his throat as he waited for the blow back.

“You’re _still_ on about that?” Fiona muttered. “You know, it was almost charming when you were a boy, but you’re a grown man now for Christ’s sake.”

Not as bad as he expected. But it hurt nonetheless, and it took a moment for the pounding of his heart to fade. Lennon knew better than to defend his interests to his mother. It wouldn't do any good to provoke her because he'd already heard it all before.

How she'd hoped he'd have outgrown his _poofter_ phase by now, how it's no wonder his wife left him, of course the other one ran off with another man. They got tired of getting on with a fairy.

But the longer she went on, her anger grew into sadness. _That's what happens when a boy grows up without his father, isn't it?_ _How could he leave us, that bastard? How could he disgrace their family like that? Son of a bitch, coward, piece of shit. It's all his fault._

Lennon began unpacking the groceries in silence. He had to earn his keep, after all. As a single father with a disability, good work was hard to come by, and moving back home with Fiona meant free rent, and always having someone to watch Bae while he worked odd shifts and went out for job interviews. Helping around the house was the least he could do when she’d been gracious enough to let him and Bae live with her until he got back on his feet– whenever that would be. Whatever steady work he found paid enough for things like groceries, gas, auto insurance for the Cadillac, his cell phone, and left him with something extra to save for emergencies, but never enough for a rent payment and all the other expenses and utilities that came with it. After three years, being back on his own and providing for Bae was looking more and more like a pipe dream. Just like ever becoming anything other than friends with Belle French. Not that that was the worst thing– she was the best and most supportive friend he ever had.

“She was telling me about some new programs she’s organizing at the library,” Lennon said over his shoulder, hoping to change the subject to something other than his own personal shortcomings. “For the children? Something about making illustrations of their favorite stories and doing a gallery showing one night.” he explained. “I think Bae would like that. You know how he loves to draw. Got that from his mother. ”

“Waste of time, if you ask me.” Fiona said, tapping an impatient finger on the table. “He’ll never get anywhere with that. You shouldn’t encourage him– wouldn’t want him to end up like his _father.”_

Lennon stopped shelving away the canned vegetables and stared blankly at the granite countertop, clenching his jaw. He felt the sting of the beginnings of tears, but blinked them away. Swallowed them. “He’s just a wee boy, ma.”

“Yes. And before you know it, he’ll be a wee man with no purpose in his life.”

He sighed and continued with the groceries. “I... I start a new job on monday.”

She stopped tapping her finger. “...Really?” she asked, studying her nails. “Where?”

Lennon cleared his throat, bracing himself for more criticism. He quickly wondered why he thought it would be a good idea to bring it up anyway, but he knows– People are nicer to him when he can remind them that he _is_ in fact looking for work, and not just being lazy. Telling them that he’s applied at a few places, or has an interview coming up, or is starting a new gig turned their scathing contempt into something much more tolerable: pity.

“You know Mr Geppetto? He needed some help at the repair shop, now that his boy’s moved off to the city.”

“Oh.” Fiona pursed her lips. “Sounds… quaint.”

“Ah dunno, I… I think it could be interesting.”

“Just doesn’t seem like reliable work, is all…” she said, and Lennon could swear that she almost sounded like she was actually concerned. “A small business like that could be belly-up in a few months. You should know.”

Lennon grit his teeth and took a deep breath. “I think at this point I need to just take what I can get.” he said. “Besides– I think I’d like working with my hands again, ye know? There’s something rewarding about it.”

“Rewarding how?” she clucked. “Arthritis and back pain from hunching over a workbench all day? You’re better than that, darling.”

He could recognize those words for what they really were. She could say over and over again how he was “too good” for something, but what she really meant was that she’d rather him be unemployed. Dependent and in her debt. It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her when his shift was, and to ask if there was anything he could pick up on the way home. But the words seemed to sink into his gut in the absence of her support. Instead, he proceeded to make room in the fridge for the gallon of milk he’d brought home. “I don’t think anyone’s above some honest work, mother.”

“It’s just that you and little Bae are welcome to stay here with me as long as you need.” she said. “I’d rather you wait and find something worth your time.”

That was a miserable thought. The longer Lennon stayed in his mother’s house, the smaller he felt. But he couldn’t shake this feeling like he owed her in some way. After everything she did to raise him on her own after Malcolm left. He’d admired her for it. Defended her. And when Milah left, it had only forged the bond they had. Abandonment was a pain that they had experienced and endured together. A shared loneliness. But all the while, everything he did was somehow wrong in her eyes. Every step he made toward becoming independent was met some kind of guilt trip. He had to remind himself often, that things could be worse. He could be on the street. Have Bae taken away from him.

“Aye. I know, ma.”

The tea kettle began whistling as he finally found a spot for the milk. He stood by the fridge and let the kettle wail for a moment, letting it distract him from his mother’s overbearing presence.

“Well, don’t just stand there, dear. Aren’t you going to get that?”

Lennon took a deep breath and sighed. “Yes, mother.”

  


*****

 

Belle’s eyes were cast on the ground as she stepped up to the oversized colonial. The words printed on the pristine welcome mat taunted her. _Home Sweet Home._ It sure as hell didn’t feel like it. Some nights, she really wished she could just stay in the apartment above the library. _Well, most nights._ But after the engagement, they’d agreed to move in together officially and that meant this was her new home.

It wasn’t that she hated Greg or anything. He was just… exhausting. At the end of a busy day, Belle just wanted to curl up in bed with a book and be left alone. She used to think it was a good thing, how different she and Greg were– that they complemented each other in some way. But now that she lived with him, she was beginning to have her doubts. Now she had to listen to him recount every little detail of his day– what color tie he’d picked out, what he had for lunch, what new account he’d gotten and how much it was worth, some tasteless joke his coworker had shared with him, and how she needed to lighten up. She was coming to find that he really just enjoyed the sound of his own voice. Quiet, personal time was a foreign concept to him, but Belle was beginning to realize how important it was for her after spending time with someone who had a personality as big as his.

Resting her hand on the doorknob, she braced herself and cracked the door open. Immediately, her ears were assaulted by the sound of the TV blaring a football game. She rolled her eyes.

“Hey!” Greg shouted from the living room. “There she is!”

Belle winced at his enthusiasm as if dodging a baseball that had been thrown at her face. She toed off her shoes and trudged into the kitchen with her bag of groceries, dropping it carelessly onto the counter. Dishes were still piled in the sink, and empty beer cans were lined up in formation beside it, waiting to be crushed and recycled. There was an opened bag of potato chips and a tub of onion dip on the island that needed to be put away, crumbs and grains of salt littering the counter space around them. Belle couldn’t recall him being such a slob when they were just dating, but now it seemed like he left mess everywhere. She was no neat freak herself, but being constantly surrounded by someone else's mess was beginning to take its toll on her morale.

“Belle?” he called out again.

She sighed and shook her head. “Yeah. Hey.” she answered half-heartedly. There was no way he could have heard her, but she didn’t bother to repeat herself. Didn’t really care. Instead, she began noisily rolling up the bag of chips. That, she wanted him to hear.

Greg appeared in the doorway, and Belle did her best to pretend not to notice. He watched her for a moment, waiting for her attention.

“Ah, shit!” he finally groaned, hitting himself in the forehead with the heel of his palm. “I’m sorry, babe! I meant to clean that all up before you got home, I just– you know.”

“Whatever. It’s fine.” she said. It really wasn’t, but she really wasn’t in the mood to hear excuses.

“No, it’s not…” he said, stepping over and wrapping his arms around her. “You should go lie down and relax, babe. I got this.” He pressed a kiss to her cheek and Belle scowled.

“Alright. Thanks.” she shrugged and freed herself from his arms.

“...what?” he frowned. “No kiss?”

She couldn’t help rolling her eyes. “Greg. _Please.”_

“Alright, alright,” he said. “Bad day I guess.”

She slipped into the living room and plopped onto the couch, immediately grasping for the remote and muting the TV.

“Aw, come on!” Greg whined, reappearing in the doorway. “I was watching that!”

Belle just rubbed a hand over her eyes and sighed.

“Rough day?”

She sighed again. “I guess.”

“I don’t know why you haven’t quit yet.” he said. “You know I can take care of us both.”

“Because I don’t want to,” she said. “I like my job, Greg. I worked hard for it.”

“Please! You like _reading._ You could stay home, be a pampered housewife and read everything your heart desires!”

Belle scoffed and rolled her eyes. “I don’t get paid to just sit on my ass and _read,_ Greg. I do research, I plan the budget and negotiate contracts for resources, organize programs for the community. I… _help_ people.”

“Well, if you love it so much, why do you keep coming home in such a pissy mood?”

“I–” she stammered, “I-I don’t know.”

“It’s the wedding, isn’t it?” he said. “I don’t know why you stress yourself out over it so much. I told you my parents can cover everything– what’s there to worry about?”

“I’m not… _worried,_ I just–” she sighed and grabbed a pillow, holding it tightly against her chest. “Let me relax for a bit, alright? Unwind?”

A smile crept across Greg’s face and he nodded. “Alright. I’ll finish up in here and you can go freshen up. We’ll go out for dinner.”

Belle groaned internally. “Greg, I don’t really think I want to–”

“Well, you clearly don’t feel like making dinner.”

“Maybe _you_ could make dinner tonight?”

“Or–” he grinned, “I could order something in!”

She wasn’t necessarily opposed to the idea, but the way he said it like he was some kind of genius for having thought of it grated on her nerves. She didn’t mind cooking for him before, back when he appreciated it. But now he _expected_ it. It had become a chore and _Christ,_ how had he not starved to death or something before they started dating?

“Yeah,” she said, throwing a hand up in surrender. “Sure.”

Belle eased her shoulders as he disappeared back into the kitchen. Reaching into her purse, she pulled out a folder she’d spent the better part of her day filling with research on disability benefits, food stamps, and affordable housing programs in the area.

The closer she grew to Lennon Gold, the more determined she was to help him. He was a good man, kind and genuine, with a son he loved more than anything in the world. It wasn’t fair that someone like him had no choice but to live with his cruel mother, while someone like Greg–

Belle shook her head. _Greg is your fiancé,_ she reminded herself. _You shouldn’t be thinking so poorly of the man you’re going to be spending the rest of your life with._

Perhaps she was investing too much of her time into Lennon. Maybe he was fine living with Fiona. After all, he'd never complained about his mother to her during any of his visits to the library. But every time they came by, Bae seemed reluctant to go home, no matter how sleepy he became. Instead of complaining about how he wanted to go to bed, he’d just yawn and rub his eyes until drifting off to sleep in one of the reading chairs. Sometimes Bae would sleep past closing time, and she would let him, assuring Lennon that she needed to stay late anyway to finish some paperwork, and that she wouldn't mind the company– _which she didn't._

Lennon was sweet and gentle and polite. Shy, but an animated speaker once they landed on a topic he was interested in. He had a warm smile, and silly sense of humor that never failed to make her laugh.

Belle just couldn't imagine living with Fiona Gold. The way she looked down her nose at everyone and everything. A cold front seemed to follow her everywhere she went, sending an uneasy chill down Belle's spine. Belle still couldn’t quite shake the feeling she’d gotten the last time she ran into Fiona while she was out shopping two months ago. The way she’d said her name, like it was an accusation. _You must be Belle._

_“Food Stamps?”_

Belle flinched and slapped the folder shut. “Jesus _Christ,_ Greg!”

“Sorry.” he laughed and shook his head. “But seriously, what the hell is all that shit?”

“It’s for Lennon.”

He rolled his eyes. “I don't know why you waste your time feeling sorry for that guy.”

“He's… my friend. I want to help him.”

“Sure he is.” Greg shrugged. “If you ask me, he's just lazy. I mean, he can't be doing _that_ badly if he dresses nice all the time, and if he really wanted a job, you'd think he'd spend less time flirting with you at the library and more time looking around.”

“Okay, first of all–” Belle snipped, “a one-time investment in a decent suit to wear to job interviews is not on par with a rent or a mortgage payment.” Greg's eyes went as wide as saucers. “Nevermind you can buy things like that secondhand. I mean… what– is he supposed to walk around town in rags or something? Let's see how much better his prospects would be then, hm?”

Greg huffed out a disbelieving laugh. “Look, I'm just saying–”

“Do you have any idea how stale the job market is in this town? How low wages are and how expensive housing is? Because I do! I’ve run the numbers, Greg! And add to that the demands of raising a child!” Belle caught her breath and let out a scoff. “But yeah, you're right– heaven forbid he spend a few hours doing anything other than refreshing the job postings on Craigslist.”

“Sorry! I didn't mean to hit a nerve there, _Christ.”_ he muttered, rolling his eyes.

“Yeah well– you have one hell of a nerve to judge him while _you_ sit in a beautiful house your _parents_ made the down payment on!”

Greg folded his arms over his chest and huffed. “Whatever. Maybe I'm just a little jealous, alright?”

Belle scoffed. _“Jealous?”_

“I've seen the way he looks at you, babe.” he said. “Kind of pathetic, honestly. As if a guy like him could ever score a–”

“You know what I think is pathetic?”

Greg looked at her and let out an exasperated sigh. “Babe, don't–”

Belle narrowed her eyes at him, daring him to continue. “People who feel the need to justify their indifference to a person in need by… by vilifying them instead!”

“By _what?”_ he laughed. “Babe, enough with the fancy words, alright?”

She huffed and rolled her eyes. “That’s it.” she said, getting up and gathering her things. “I’m going to bed. To read.” she told him, and stomped up the stairs.

“What?” he hollered after. “What did I do now?”


	2. Chapter 2

Walking Bae to and from school was always the highlight of Lennon’s day. He looked forward to the excuse to leave the house almost as much as he looked forward to the few minutes spent alone with his son, free from his mother’s neggling.

When he arrived at Storybrooke Elementary, he found his son sitting on the grass by himself, several yards from the nearest cluster of his classmates. Lennon faced the same treatment himself, never once included in the circle of parents chattering away about how unfair their children’s teachers were, how excessive their workloads are, or which universities their eldest had been accepted into. They’d shoot him the occasional look over their shoulder, only to tighten the knit of their little group and continue pretending he wasn’t there.

His cane dug into the grass as he crossed the lawn, making his gait more uneven than usual. His son looked up from the leaf that he was crushing in his palm and smiled.

“Papa!” he dusted the pieces off of his hand and jumped to his feet, throwing his arms around him.

Lennon had to adjust his footing before he lost his balance and fall over. “How was school, Bae?”

“Good. I missed you.”

“I missed you too, son,” Lennon said, holding him tight. Bae soon began wiggling himself out of the embrace though, and he reluctantly let go.

“Hey, Papa– guess what!”

He tilted his head and gave it a moment. “...What?”

“I got a one-hundred on my spelling test!” he bubbled excitedly, his eyes wide and eager to see his papa’s reaction. “It was the highest grade in my whole class!”

“Wow!” Lennon couldn’t help grinning like a fool at that. He was so proud of his boy. “A hundred?”

“Yeah!” Bae cheered, bouncing on his toes.

“Well then,” he chuckled, “what do you say we stop by Mr Clark’s and pick up something sweet to celebrate, hm?”

“Yes! And then we can go to the library and see Miss Belle!”

“That sounds like an excellent idea, Bae,” he said, rustling a hand through his shaggy brown hair. “I’m sure she’ll be thrilled to know how well you’re doing.”

“Besides, you like Miss Belle.” Bae said, a knowing smile tugging at his lips.

“Oh. Well... of course I do. She’s a very– nice person.” he stammered.

“You always smile really big around her.”

Lennon scoffed and hoped his son wouldn’t notice him blushing. “So do you, Bae. Now come–” he said, offering his hand. “Let’s go.”

On their way to the convenience store they bumped into Dr Hopper, who was walking Pongo. Bae happily shared the news of his perfect test score with them both. Dr Hopper smiled down on him warmly as he pet the Dalmatian’s head until they exchanged _good afternoons_ and parted ways. When they reached the store, Mr Clark received the same treatment while he bagged the candy bar and the comic book Bae had picked out.

Lennon had a hard time keeping up with Bae as they approached the library. The closer they got to the building, the more impatient his son became. Bae kept sprinting ahead of him, then stopping and turning around to give him a moment to catch up. Finally, they made it to the front door and stepped into the blissfully quiet sanctuary the library offered. Belle wasn’t seated at her usual post at the circulation desk, so Lennon quickly deduced she must be shelving. He followed Bae across the lobby, grinning when his son suddenly stopped at one of the aisles.

“Well, if it isn't my two favorite patrons,” Belle said, poking her head out from behind the shelf.

“Miss Belle! I got a one hundred on my spelling test!” Bae said, puffing his little chest out.

“Oh my!” she gave a surprised gasp and smiled. “A one-hundred! That's wonderful!”

“I told him he ought to purchase an ad in _The Mirror.”_ Lennon joked. “He’s ah, been telling everyone on the way over.”

“Well, you should be very proud, Bae.” Belle chuckled, squatting down to his eye level and offering a high-five. “That’s excellent news.”

Bae clapped her hand and bounced on his toes. “It was the highest grade in my _whole_ class!”

Belle glanced over at Lennon and gave him a smile that he couldn’t help returning. Oh, how her smiles made his heart flutter and his whole body feel weightless. Her blue eyes lingered on him, and there was something unspoken in her expression that stole his breath. He held her gaze for a few seconds before it became too much and they both quickly looked away.

“Keep it up and maybe I’ll put you in charge of storytime,” Belle said, poking Bae’s chest and rising back to her feet.

“You think so?” Bae asked. “Because Ms Shirin says I’m ready for the level F books now!”

“Is that right?” she said, tilting her head and arching a brow. “Because it just so happens that I have plenty of level F books with your name on them.”

“You do?”

“Mhmm. Come– let me show you.” she said and offered her hand, which Bae was more than happy to accept.

Lennon pretended to browse the selection of books on display at the front table, watching the pair of them walk off toward the children’s section. He could hear his son repeating the details of his school day to Belle, who listened with great interest– congratulating and encouraging him on all of his tiny accomplishments. When he watched them like this, Lennon could almost let himself imagine that the three of them were a family. After all, the library was starting to feel more like home than his mother’s house, and the attention and care Belle gave his son was almost motherly in nature. Bae came alive at the library, and over the past three years, it had truly become a safe space for the both of them.

Belle looked back over her shoulder at him and smiled, and Lennon quickly returned his attention to the display, hoping his face wasn’t turning too red. He eventually chose a book on 19th century fashion and settled into a chair at one of the study tables. It was impossible to focus however, when his son was just a few yards away giggling and talking so excitedly with Belle. Moments later, he could hear him carefully enunciating syllables from a book, and Belle occasionally chiming in with a gentle correction here and there. Three readers later, the children’s nook grew silent, Bae presumably starting on his homework.

Lennon tried to look focused on his book when Belle reappeared from behind the aisles of bookcases and slid into the seat across from him.

“He's a really great kid.” she whispered.

He looked up from his book and smiled. “Oh, ah… thank you.”

She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and wet her lips. “You're um, doing a wonderful job with him.”

He cleared his throat, already feeling himself blush. He knew he wasn’t much, but if there was one thing he could pride himself on, it was being a good father to his son. “Thank you. I ah, I appreciate that.”

“It just can’t be easy.” she said with a shrug, “Raising him on your own.”

“Oh,” he chuckled nervously. “I've got my work cut out for me, that's for certain.”

She sighed, and while he pretended to be absorbed in his book, Lennon could see her rubbing a hand over her neck. “Oh. How um, how's the new job going? With uh... Mr Geppetto?” she asked tentatively, as if she was struggling to remember. But oh, she knew– Lennon could tell. She always remembered the little details of his and Bae’s small lives.

“It’s going alright, I think. He's ah, very nice. Friendly.” He shifted in his seat a little, trying to get comfortable, but it seemed to be impossible when she was sitting across from him like this.

“He really is.” she agreed. “And the pay, the hours? They’re reasonable?” she asked. “That is, if you don't mind–”

“Oh. No, not at all. Ah… pay is very good, but it’s part time. Twenty hours a week. More, depending on how busy things are.”

Belle pouted her lips. “Hm.”

“I'm enjoying the work though, ye know? Working with my hands, fixing things… I'm in the workshop all day, so I don’t have to deal with any customers, really.” he added with a timid little chuckle.

“Well that's good.” She smiled and reached across the table, giving his hand a gentle pat. “I think it sounds like a great fit for you. I hope it works out.”

Lennon could feel himself blushing and looked down at their hands. “Aye.”

“You know… if you uh, ever need someone to watch Bae for a few hours, before or after school, or on the weekends…” she looked away from him and back towards the children’s section. “I’d be happy to spend some time with him here at the library. ...Keep him out of trouble.”

“That's… very generous of you to offer, Belle. Thank you.” He nodded politely and returned to his book, his finger beginning to tap on the hard cover.

“Just, you know.” she shrugged. “I wouldn't mind at all. He's a perfect sweetheart, really.” She cleared her throat, and the hand that had been resting on his gave him a slight squeeze. “...Just like his papa.”

Lennon looked up from the page again to find her watching him and nibbling her lip. She answered his puzzled gaze with a smile and he blinked, his mouth hanging open. Belle French, the woman of his dreams, was _flirting_ with him? That couldn't be right.

She suddenly snapped her hand away and shook her head, her pale cheeks turning bright red. “I'm sorry, I don't know where that came– I shouldn't have–”

“No, no!” he assured, “You're fine, I just–”

“That was inappropriate, I–”

“Don't worry about it.” he said. She was so terribly flustered, and was it really because of him? He just wanted to reach out and touch her. A comforting hand, a soft look to tell her it was fine– _truly,_ and put her back at ease.

“You know, I think I have another cart to reshelve.” she said, nearly leaping out of her chair and smoothing out her skirt.

“Oh, let me help–”

“No, it's um, it's fine.” she shook her head and anxiously twisted the engagement ring around her finger. “You just uh, sit and enjoy your book.”

Lennon slouched back into his chair and gave her a wry smile, his heart pounding in his chest. He couldn't help watching as she spun around and returned to the circulation desk to grab the cart, all heels and legs and skirts and off limits.

She'd touched him and called him a sweetheart, though. What the hell did that mean? In any event, he supposed it didn't matter. Not after she withdrew it all the way she did. He knew he was being a damned fool anyway, mooning over an engaged woman who was entirely out of his league. Her fiance Greg was everything he wasn’t– tall, strong, athletic, confident, wealthy. Even _if_ Belle was available, there wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell she’d be interested in an old, underemployed cripple like himself.

Lennon managed to sit still for a few minutes, his finger tap, tap, tapping on the cover of his book until he couldn't stand it anymore. He decided to check up on Bae as a distraction. He found him lying on his belly on the colorful reading rug, pouring over a workbook.

“How’s everything coming along, Bae?”

He spun his pencil around, erasing something and wiping the little pink crumbs away before scrawling another answer down on the page. “Good.”

“Is there anything you're stuck on? Anything your papa can help you with?”

“No.” he shrugged without giving him half a glance.

“Oh. Well that's good, I suppose.” Lennon said. If he was honest with himself, he was a little disappointed. If he couldn't provide his son with a warm home, with all the toys and things his little heart desired, he could always at least be there to help him with his school work. But it seemed like most other people, his son just didn't need him. “I guess I'll ah, leave you to it then.” he said.

“Okay.” Bae mumbled around the fist he was resting his cheek on.

Lennon lingered a while longer, watching him work through a few more problems before hitching across the library to browse the periodicals. Sometimes he and Belle would discuss current events while he helped her shelve books. As much as he enjoyed his son's company, it was nice having another adult to talk to other than his mother. He'd come to find that he and Belle agreed on a great many things, and where they didn't agree, she always had a unique perspective he hadn't considered before. It was just one of the many things he admired about her. She was beautiful, sure– but she was also intelligent, compassionate, and stubborn, with unwavering views on morality– and _he really ought to stop thinking about her so much,_ he reminded himself as his heart began to thump in his chest a little too strongly.

He’d made it about halfway to the periodicals when he heard Belle mumbling Dewey Decimal codes to herself. He turned his attention down the aisle, finding her stretching up to one of the top shelves with the help of her step ladder. He'd find the sight endearing if not for the ridiculous shoes she was wearing.

“I really wish you'd take those things off before climbing up there.” he teased.

She looked down at her feet and chuckled. It was an empty thing, though, and Lennon could tell that whatever had rattled her earlier, she hadn't quite shaken off yet. “It's fine. I'm a trained professional, you know?” she joked weakly, leaning over to grab another book from the cart. She lost her balance for a half second and Lennon's heart nearly leapt out of his chest, but she managed to steady herself.

“Please. At least let me just–” Lennon approached the ladder and set his cane down so he could hold it steady for her.

She stopped and stared blankly ahead at the spines of the books in front of her, biting her lip. After a moment, she looked down at him and smiled– her real smile this time, and a wave of relief washed over him.

“Thank you.”

“It still amazes me we even have shelves as tall as these.” he observed. “Who can reach them?”

“Yeah,” she sighed. “But we only have so much square footage in this building. Have to make the most of it, you know?”

He glanced around the space and shrugged. “Aye, I suppose.” he said. “Just a shame it blocks out so much of the natural light–”

_“Ack!”_

Lennon looked up in time to see Belle teetering off the ladder, arms flailing about in an attempt to regain her balance. Were he a stronger man, he'd have caught her, but instead the weight of her knocked him down, and they landed on the floor in a pile of books and limbs. The first thing Lennon noticed was that she was on top of him. The second thing he noticed was the way she was gripping his arm. His eyes slowly swept up to her face, plump lips parted ever so slightly, rosy cheeks, wide blue eyes.

“There was um– there was a book scorpion.” she explained breathlessly.

“...Oh.”

Her chest heaved as she recovered, and her hand continued to clutch his arm like a vice. His mouth dried at the realization and it was as though he’d swallowed a spoonful of sawdust. Finally, his mind caught up to the sharp pain in his ankle.

“My leg.” he coughed.

“Hmm?” She cocked her head to the side and raised her brows. “...Oh!” Her eyes grew wide as saucers as it dawned on her. “Oh, God, I'm so sorry!”

“It's fine.” he grunted as she climbed off of him, averting his eyes from the rising hemline of her skirt.

“Here, let me help you,” she said, offering her hands when he struggled to get up. Accepting her hand, he pulled himself to his feet. She seemed to hold onto him longer than she needed to, but Lennon decided he must be imagining things. She let go and smoothed out her skirt, and he took a step back with his hands hovering uselessly in the air.

“Are you alright?” they asked each other at the same time, them laughed in unison.

“Yeah.”

“Aye.”

She looked around at the floor, not sure what to do with her hands. “Oh, um, _here.” s_ he blurted, bending down to pick up his cane.

“Right.” he nodded, his eyes glued to hers as he accepted it from her. “Thank you.” Using the cane to support himself, he squat down and began picking up the few books that had fallen on the floor.

She shook her head. “Oh, Lennon, you don't have to–”

“Please. I ah, feel partially responsible.” he chuckled.

“No, not at all. I'm just uh, not as brave as I thought, I guess.” she sighed. “Brought to my knees by a harmless, tiny insect.”

“Oh, I wouldn't say that.” He handed her one of the books and smiled. “You know what they say– It’s not whether or not you fall, but whether you ah... _you know,”_ he shrugged. “Get back up an’ all that.”

She smiled quite brilliantly at that, but she quickly snuffed it out, pressing her lips together as she took the book from him. “Thanks.”

  
  


*****

  
  


Lennon had made the mistake of forgetting to wipe the grin off of his face before he opened the door. She’d been sitting in the living room, waiting for him.

“What are you smiling about?” Fiona asked.

He busied himself with taking off Bae's coat, using it as an excuse to not look her in the eyes. “Nothing, ma. Just in a good mood, is all.”

“We went to see Miss Belle!” Bae cheered as he wiggled his little arms from the sleeves, and Lennon slouched his shoulders, trying to make himself as small as possible. It was a mild comfort to be reminded though, that his son wasn't as worn down as he. That he could still step foot in this house with his head held high and a smile on his face.

“Oh.” Fiona pursed her lips. “Of course you did.”

Lennon took his time with his own coat, keeping his eyes fixed on the floor.

“You didn't think to tell me?”

“I was helping her close up.” he mumbled, hoping she couldn’t hear and would just give up. “Lost track of the time.”

“Yes, and while you were doing her work for her, your mother was sitting here, all alone, worrying about her boys.”

“Y-You know he likes the library,” he said, nodding towards where Bae was now seated, pulling off his shoes. “It's just right up the street.”

“All I'm saying is that this family should come before your little schoolboy crush.” she muttered. “One would think you'd have learned that by now.”

“It's nothing to do with that, ma. She's just a good friend.”

She barked a laugh and lifted her chin. “You said the same thing about the last strumpet who paid you any mind. You think that little bookworm actually cares about you? That she won't toss you aside like the rest of them did once she's done with you?”

That was a barb to the chest. One tipped with a poison that instantly dissolved whatever will to argue with her he had left. He slouched and fixed his gaze on the ground. He thought to tell Bae to go get ready for bed so he could be spared from having to watch an argument unfold, but his shame was a weight that kept the words from coming out. After all, it wouldn’t be an argument, but rather a crucifixion.

“When will you learn, that the only people we can depend on are each other? Your father left us, and just like him, that _little harpy_ decided she was too good for the beautiful family she had with you.”

Fiona rose up from her seat on the sofa and stepped over to him. She seemed to float, drifting without her feet ever touching the floor. Like an apparition that haunted him everywhere he went. One that could move faster, more silently, and more swiftly than he could outrun her.

“I know it hurts, darling,” she said, taking his limp hand. “But that's why you and I need to stick together. Like old times.” She chuckled and combed his hair out of his face. “My sweet bairn… You remember how we used to be.”

He couldn’t help twitching and scrunching his face as her fingers touched his skin. The way they used to be was a lie. A false memory that he'd slowly been learning to separate from the truth. Not once had he ever felt that his mother was proud of him. Not once had he come to her for comfort and received anything more than a _suck it up._ Not once had he, as a naive child, voiced a harmless complaint– whether it be that he was too hot or too cold, that he was hungry, that he didn't like green beans, or that the boys in school had nicer shoes than him – and not been called an ungrateful brat for it. He'd had to learn to make himself invisible, silent, so as not to attract her criticism. At the time, he thought he'd learned respect. But now he knew better. Now he knew it was fear.

“My sweet Lennon… All we have and have _ever_ had is each other. The world is full of people who just want to chew you up and spit you out. But I'm your _mother._ ” She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him close, rubbing a hand over over his back in soothing, languid strokes. He found himself reciprocating without really wanting to. But the truth was that no matter how hard he tried, after all this time, he was still so hungry for her love and affection. “You know you can trust me to take care of you, don't you?”

Lennon took a deep breath, taking in the scent of her perfume– still the same as she wore when he was a boy. “Aye, mum.”

“Next time you decide you'd rather spend your evening trying to look up that brat’s skirt instead of sharing quality time with your dear old mother, I want you to call me.” she said, her tone harsh and bitter again. “Do you understand?”

“Yes, mother. I–I'm sorry.”

“There, there…” she squeezed him tightly, “I just worry so much about my boys…”

Lennon bit down on his lip to stop himself from crying. Such a pathetic excuse for a man he was, he thought. Weak. Incapable of standing up for himself and the people he cares about. To think, the example he was setting for his son, to stay by the very people who hurt and belittle him. To forgive everything at the first sign of positive attention.


	3. Chapter 3

Another two weeks had brought Lennon back in line at the grocery store. Working at Geppetto's was going well. Though he only got about twenty-five hours a week, those hours were steady and didn't involve late nights that kept him from spending time with Bae after school. He was paying for the groceries now, which did a little bit to boost his self-esteem and make him feel less worthless. Less of a freeloader. He was making sure to give his mother some of his earnings to put toward utilities, and tucking the rest away for the future for him and Bae that he was daring to look forward to again.

The woman ahead of him in line had the conveyor belt packed, but there was just enough room left for him to set down his own things, which included canned goods, milk, the fixings for Bae's school lunches, and more of the expensive tea his mother liked. Convinced he had plenty of time, Lennon surreptitiously plucked a copy of _Harper’s Bazaar_ from the rack, turning away slightly and covering the front cover with a splayed hand as he thumbed through its pages.

Lace, pleats, and ruffles. Soft, flowing fabrics. Ivory and pastels. Everything delicate and feminine, with all the romance of a John William Waterhouse painting. It would be a delightful challenge to try to create his own interpretations of the styles that had been declared the season’s must-haves. He thought back to his long-neglected Singer at home, his fingers already itching to create something, and his mind automatically conjured the image of Belle modeling whatever pieces he might make. It was silly to fantasize about such things though, so he shook it away. He’d need to make a trip to the store for the right fabrics anyway, and he didn’t quite have the time or cash put aside for labors of love just yet.

“Lennon, hey!”

He flinched and spun around, finding Belle waiting behind him. She was wearing a bright green dress today. Nude pumps. It wasn't quite as flirtatious as her usual short skirts and statement blouses, and he wondered if there was some reason for it. Perhaps a meeting with the mayor to discuss the library's budget? Was it the right time of year for that?

He blinked himself back into the present and cleared his throat. A decades-old rush of shame coursed through him, compelling him to return the magazine to the stand as quickly as possible. “Hey.”

“Sorry,” she chuckled, and her smile helped to put his racing heart at ease. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“No, no– you’re fine. It’s fine.” he assured. It had been a while since he and Bae had gone to the library. Ever since his mother’s lecture, he had been straight home to help with dinner, and now that Belle was standing right in front of him, it was as if he could feel Fiona’s chilling presence like a cold hand on his shoulder. “What ah, what are you doing here?”

_Stupid question._

“Same as you, I’m afraid,” she said, indicating the basket of groceries she was carrying. “Just grabbing a few things on my lunch break.”

“Oh,” he chuckled uncomfortably. “Right. Of course.”

“How have you been doing?” she asked. “You haven’t been around in a while.”

“Fine.” _Liar._ “How ah, how are you?”

Belle frowned, the spark vanishing from her blue eyes. “...Alright.” she shrugged. “Greg’s parents are coming over for dinner tonight, and I’m uh… not really looking forward to it.”

Right. _Greg._ Lennon had plenty of strong opinions about the man Belle was engaged to, but none that would be polite to vocalize.

“How um… how’s Bae?”

He could manage a smile at that. “Oh, aye, he’s doing great.”

The spark ignited in her eyes again, and she bit back a smile. “Well, say hi to him for me maybe?”

He nodded eagerly. “Of course.”

It was on the first of his trips to the library with Bae that he had laid eyes on Belle– seated on her throne in the children's section, reading a tale out loud to an audience of rightfully mesmerized preschoolers. Bae was hesitant to join in, and if Lennon hadn't been a goner then, he certainly was when he saw Belle go out of her way to make his son feel welcome and included by inviting him to sit up front and be her special helper for the activities that followed.

“We'll ah, be by on Saturday.” he added.

“Good.” she smiled. “I always look forward to spending time with him. He's such a great kid.”

“Oh, so do I. _We._ H-He loves the library.”

They fell silent for a moment and Lennon wished the cashier would hurry up already. He was never one for small talk, but especially not around Belle French. He cursed himself for every short, stiff answer he gave her, but they were all his nerves would allow him. Talking to her at the library was one thing, but running into her in the wild was another.

“You um…” Belle began, staring at the magazine he’d been reading earlier. “You used to do tailoring, right?”

“Aye.” he nodded. “Years ago.”

She pouted her lips, eyes still fixed on the magazine cover. “Why’d you stop?”

He let out a deep sigh. “I… didn’t really get enough business to keep it up, unfortunately.”

“...Oh. That’s too bad.” she said, finally looking him in the eyes. “You liked it though?”

“I did.” he said. “I was… I enjoyed it.”

“Hm. I guess it explains why you always look so put together.” she smiled. “Greg still dresses like he's in high school,” she added, rolling her eyes. “Just goes to show that money can't buy taste, huh?”

Lennon felt his face grow hot at that. If her boarish fiancé was proof that money couldn't buy taste, that made _him_ proof that yes– even poor people can clean up nice. That’s all he was to her. Some poor bastard she felt sorry for. He should think of something polite to say. Change the topic.

“Oh–” she blurted. “I'm sorry. Lennon, I didn't mean it like–”

“It's fine.”

“I just meant… his family, they're very um… ostentatious about their–” Her face was turning beet red and her hand was shakily combing through her hair. It seemed like half of their interactions somehow ended like this, with one of them putting their foot in their mouth. But in spite of that, he still looked forward to bumping into her again and again. He couldn't get enough of her.

He knew better than to honestly believe she could have meant it as a slight towards him, though. She was far too kind for that. That first day at the library he'd hoped the floor would swallow him whole when she asked him where he worked. But when he surprised himself and told her the truth, she'd received it graciously and respectfully. Made him feel like a human being instead of a failure. However, that knowledge did nothing now to keep him from feeling embarrassed. Pathetic. Pitiable.

“You just always look nice.” she blurted. “Not um, in _spite_ of anything or anything like that. You're just um, you're handsome and have good taste.”

He tried not to look down at his outfit just then. He'd put on a navy blue dress shirt and his best pair of jeans before he head out, topping them with a black jacket he'd picked up at the thrift store and tailored to his fit. A good outfit was like armor to him– A mask that covered up the word _failure_ that he felt was branded on his forehead. But it was hard to mind that when Belle had just called him handsome.

“Paper or plastic?” the cashier chimed from their post at the register.

Lennon cleared his throat and nudged his items further down the conveyor belt. “Lovely to see you, Belle.” He said and turned away. With the distraction of payment, her small talk stopped, and he was soon pushing his cart out into the parking lot. However, having only bought a few items herself, Belle caught up to him quickly.

“Lennon!”

He parked his cart alongside the old Cadillac and spun around. “Hey.”

“Look,” she panted. “I uh, I was thinking– we haven't done lunch in a while. Maybe we could do Granny's again sometime?”

“Oh.” he opened the trunk and busied himself with putting the bags away. “Ah… I don't know, Bae–”

“Bae can come– My treat.”

“I don't... I think my um...” he stammered. _I don’t think my mother would like that_ was definitely not an appropriate response for a man his age.

“Alright, well– just um, think about it?”

“Definitely.” he nodded. “I'll ah, definitely think about it.” And he would. _Oh, he would._

“I'm sorry,” she began, shifting on her feet, “I um, I hate to be a bother but– do you think you could maybe give me a ride back to the library?”

 _“Yes.”_ The word jumped out of his mouth before he could think about it. “Aye, I could do that.”

“Oh, you're the best!” she beamed, her plastic bags rustling as she bounced on her toes. “Thank you!”

He rubbed his hand over the back of his neck and tried not to blush. “I-It’s nae problem.”

“I know, I probably should have put on some more sensible shoes before I left,” she laughed.

“Well, you can just ah, throw it all in,” he said.  “Actually, here– let me.” He relieved her of her groceries, gently stowing them in the trunk. She waited by the passenger door for him to unlock it, and the time it took for him to walk around the other side with the keys only reminded him of how old the car really was, lacking something as simple as a remote to unlock the door. He fumbled with the key and with much relief, opened the door for her. At least the car was spotless inside.

“Thank you.” Belle smiled as she slid into the seat. “Such a gentleman.”

Lennon settled into the driver’s seat and took a deep breath. He said a silent prayer to whoever was listening as he slid the keys into the ignition. His heart pounded as the engine struggled for a few seconds, chugging slowly before finally firing up, and he couldn’t help slouching into his seat and huffing out a relieved sigh as it roared and quelled into a healthy idle.

“What year is this?” she asked, admiring wooden finish on the dashboard..

“'90.”

“It's a beautiful car.” she said. “I mean, I know everything's all about safety and aerodynamics now, but I really like an old car. The shape, the style.”

He mumbled a thank you, thinking to himself what an old piece of junk it really was. The transmission struggled as he put it in reverse, threatening to stall when he pulled out of the parking spot, and again as when he put it back in drive.

“My mom used to drive an old Lincoln Town Car.” Belle told him. “‘89, I think. Similar body style as this. It was that weird metallic beige color though, with the matching interior?” She laughed and pulled a face before looking back at him with a smile. “I remember she uh, always had _Fleetwood Mac_ in the 8-Track player.”

Lennon smiled at that. "Who _didn't_ have that in their 8-Track player?” he chuckled, “Pretty sure the dealerships were just handing ‘em out with the cars for a while.”

Belle giggled and shook her head. “And just what do _you_ have in–” She looked at the radio and cut herself off when she realized there was no 8-Track player.

“That's right, Miss French– She's not quite the dinosaur she looks to be.” he teased, patting an affectionate hand on the dashboard and delighting in the giggle that bubbled out of her.

She narrowed her eyes at him and ejected the cassette tape, her eyes taking a moment to find the artist on it. “Something Else by The Kinks...” she read aloud with a shrug and popped it back in with a satisfying click. “Hm.”

He wasn't sure what that reaction meant. The cassette began to play, and in the corner of his eye, he saw her let out a deep sigh, throwing her head back to look out the window.

 

_Cannot tell water from champagne_

_And I have never met the Queen_

_And I wish I could have all he has got_

_Wish I could be like David Watts_

_Fa, fa, fa, fa, fa, fa–_

 

“Greg's a good man.” she finally said. “He's… nice.”

“I wouldn't really know.” Lennon said stiffly. “But I'm sure he must be.”

“He just um, he takes care of me, you know?” she said, wrapping her arms around herself and fidgeting in her seat.

“That's… important.” he nodded.

“I'm sorry–” she scoffed and shook her head. “I've just got the wedding on my mind. Coming up soon.”

“Oh, yeah. Certainly.”

“I'm gonna wear my mom's old dress. At least, I hope so.”

“That's nice.”

“Greg wants me to get something new, but I don't know. I just always wanted to get married in mom's dress. Have that piece of her with me, you know?”

“Well, it is _your_ day.” he said, trying to keep the ridiculous jealousy from his voice. “You should wear what _you_ like.”

 _Heavens._ Were Belle his bride, he'd let her wear the thing every day for the rest of her life if she so pleased.

She wrung her fingers together and slid them between her thighs, as if trying to keep them warm. “You're right.” she smiled. “I'm um, I'm gonna put my foot down.”

He pulled into one of the parking spaces in front of the library. “...Good for you.”

They sat in silence as the car idled, and Lennon wasn't sure if he should get out and open the door for her or not.

“Would you um, like to come in for a bit?” she asked. “I could make you a cup of tea.”

“Oh. Oh no, I’ve um, got some things I've got to get in the fridge.”

“Oh, okay.” she slouched in her seat and finally moved to open the door. “But oh, speaking of– my dress!” she perked up. “I’ve been meaning to ask, actually. If you would um, be interested in doing the alterations for me?”

Lennon hesitated. It had been years since he did any work on a gown, and as much as he might like to, something about being asked to just wasn’t sitting well with him.

“I’d pay you, of course.” dhe added.

 _Oh, and there it was._ He closed his eyes and pressed his lips into a thin line. “Belle, I-I don’t want your charity.”

“It’s not _charity.”_ she said. She was trying her best not to look to offended, but he knew her better than that. “It’s just... If I’m going to pay someone to do the work, why not you?”

He let out a deep sigh and gripped the steering wheel. “Belle, everyone wants to– to throw their money at me in exchange for something, as if their few bucks here and there are going to pull me out of the rut I've been in for the past three years and I just–” He cut himself off and sighed. “I just would like the luxury– _the dignity–_ of doing something for a friend just because I _want_ to, and not as part of some… transaction.”

Belle bit her cheek and looked down at the floormats. “I… think I understand. I’m sorry. If you don't want to, I totally understand, I just thought I'd ask.”

Lennon let go of the wheel to reach out to her, but stopped himself, instead dropping his hands in his lap. “Belle, I’d be happy to do the alterations for you. But please let me do it as a favor. Because you’re my friend.”

She nodded slowly, eyes still fixed on the floor. “If that's what you wanna do…”

He took her hand and gave her a reassuring squeeze. “It is. I'd love to. I-I don't get many excuses to put my sewing machine to use these days. Honestly, it'd be a pleasure. An honor, really, to work on your mother's dress.”

She finally looked up at him with a weak smile. “Thank you. That's very generous of you, Lennon.”

He smiled at that. “Well, you've never shown me anything less than your generosity, sweetheart,” he said, and his pulse immediately thickened and pounded in his ears.

 _Sweetheart._ Why had he called her that? What in God's name was he thinking?

Belle pressed her lips together and nodded, but her chin wobbled as if she was holding back tears. “Thank you,” she said with a little sniffle.

That was enough to make him forget about his blunder. “Belle– is something wrong?”

“No,” she shook her head, “just– I'm getting married!” She laughed, but it was the most hopeless and melancholy sound he'd ever heard.

Nonetheless, he put on a smile for her and nodded. “Aye. You are.” he said, and it was as much as affirmation for get as it was a reminder for himself.

“Pop the trunk?” she said abruptly before climbing out of the car. He did as she asked, pulling the trunk release and watching as she circled around the car. She hastily grabbed her bags and stormed back up to the passenger window. She flashed him a dim smile and a _thank you,_ and then she was off, fumbling with her keys as she rushed to unlock the library door.


	4. Chapter 4

“Sit anywhere you like.” Belle said, gesturing around the small, neglected apartment that made up the second floor of the library. The once-crammed bookshelves were half-empty and coated with dust. Off to the side was a makeshift platform made up of a board sitting atop three stacks of books. Lennon perched himself on the edge of the musty loveseat, not quite feeling at ease enough to lean back comfortably.

The last time he and Bae visited the library, they'd set up a time for him to come by and look at her dress. They decided on meeting during their lunch breaks in the middle of the week.

“Would you like some tea?” she asked.

“No, I– I’m fine.”

“Okay, well um... “ She was pacing back and forth in front of him, her eyes fixed on the floor. “I guess I’ll um, change into my um…”

He nodded. “Yeah.”

She stopped and looked up at him with a stiff smile. “Yeah.”

He tried not to watch as she slipped into the bedroom, choosing instead to gaze out the window at the underwhelming skyline. It didn’t do much to distract him from the fact that he was about to be taking Belle’s measurements while she wore nothing but her bridal underthings, so he dug his measuring tape out of his pocket and began anxiously rolling and unrolling it. He was torturing himself, agreeing to do this. But he valued his friendship with Belle so very much and he wanted to help her in whatever way he could.

But why couldn’t he have been a florist? A cake decorator? A DJ? Literally anything that didn’t involve seeing the woman he was secretly in love with half naked?

The bedroom door creaked open, and she poked her head out. “I’m um… I’m gonna come out now.”

He tore his gaze away from the window and nodded. “Aye. Of course.”

She pushed the door open the rest of the way, and Lennon couldn’t help releasing a relieved sigh when he saw that she had wrapped herself in a sheet. But then he reminded himself that it was only delaying the inevitable. She spun in a circle, the sheet rustling at her feet while she glanced around the room hesitantly. “Where should I…?”

He rose to his feet and gestured limply around the room. “Anywhere is fine.”

“Um. Okay.” she mumbled. Like a dog trying to find the right spot to lie down in, she spun around a few times before finally facing away from him and standing still. He waited a few seconds to steel his nerves before taking his first steps toward her and unfurled the measuring tape. His hands hovered in the air in useless hesitation for a moment, and he cleared his throat. 

“...What?” she asked, tossing a glance at him over her shoulder.

“The um– if you don’t mind–”

“Oh!” Belle chuckled nervously. “Oh, sorry.” He could hear her drawing a deep breath, followed by the whisper of the sheet as she let it drop to her feet and kicked it away.

Lennon looked up at the ceiling, averting his eyes from her body, and swallowed. “And this is um… what you’ll be wearing on–”

“Yes.”

He exhaled slowly and let his eyes drift down to her bare shoulders. “I’ll ah, start with the waist?” he said, stepping closer and beginning to reach around her body with the measuring tape.

“Mhm.” She nodded and lifted her arms, sucking in a sharp breath when the tape touched her skin. He waited for her to relax again, listening for her breath as she exhaled before noting the measurement and typing it into his phone.

It only got worse from there. Her hips, her bust, her legs. He'd hoped it would get easier after the first few, but each measurement proved to be just as awkward and uncomfortable as the last. They both kept clearing their throats, avoiding each other's eyes, and trying to make small talk about work, the library, Bae. It was a relief to type the last measurement into his phone and be done with it.

“I’ll um… put the dress on.” Belle said, still not quite meeting his eyes. “I'll give a shout if I need help.” She added, and her face was pink and dewy with sweat as she turned away and disappeared back into the bedroom.

Lennon plopped onto the couch with a sigh and buried his face in his hands. He should be happy for her. He should be smiling and telling her what a beautiful bride she'll be, and how lucky she and Greg are to have each other. That's what he did with his clients years ago. Shared their enthusiasm for their special day. But she didn't seem to have any enthusiasm, and even if she did, he doubted he could muster his own to match. 

He picked his head up at the sound of the doorknob clicking open. She stepped through the threshold in her mother's dress, her hands fisting at the length of the skirt and holding the hem off the floor so she wouldn't trip. It was certainly a product of its time– with billowing bishop sleeves, a high mock neckline, an empire waist, and an A-line silhouette– but it was a tasteful example that he thought aged well, all things considered.

As she reached the center of the room, she looked up at him and smiled, and  _ gods, _ did she look beautiful. He watched in awe as she walked up to the makeshift platform, and it wasn't until she was hiking the excess fabric up to climb atop it that he was able to pick his jaw up off the floor and wipe the lovestruck smile off of his face.

“H-Here–” he rushed to her side and helped with her dress as she stepped up. “There we are.”

“I um… I couldn't zip it all the way.” she said, gesturing at her back.

“Oh.” He stepped behind her and noted way the fabric was gaping where the zipper sat stubbornly at her waistline. He dragged the zipper down and pulled the dress off her shoulder, peeking inside to check the seam allowance.

“Is it… something you can fix?” she asked quietly, a little embarrassed.

He'd have about an inch on each side to work with, he decided, and pulled the zipper back up again. She must have had it snagged on the flap of fabric that concealed it, because it slid up for him just fine, even if she had to suck her tummy in to make it fit.

“...Oh.” she chuckled as much as the tight garment would allow her.

“I can take it out a wee bit at the seams,” he said, pinching at the fabric at her sides. “Let you breathe a little.”

“Really?”

“Aye. Most things these days don't give you any leeway with the seams, but an older, well-made piece like this does.” he said with a smile. “Depending on the fabric, you can get creasing from the old seams that show, but with this I think we should be fine.”

She gave a relieved sigh and nodded. “Then please. Do that.”

“How does it feel, otherwise?” he asked, studying the seams around her underarm.

“The arms feel kind of tight? Like they're digging a little into my armpit.”

“Hm. That will probably correct itself when I take the bodice out for you.”

“Oh. Okay.” She looked down at him with a tight-lipped smile, and he began straightening out the length of fabric pooled around her feet.

“So um, what do you think?”

He took a step back and indulged in the vision that she was, standing before him in white with a pink blush on her cheeks. “It's... lovely. You look beautiful, Belle.”

“You think these shoes are okay?” she asked, poking her foot out.

“They're perfect.” he said _. “High. _ But I've seen you soldier on in far worse.”

She giggled at that, and Lennon felt a flutter in his chest. He shook it away and went over to the loveseat, digging a box of pins out of his bag and tucking a few between his lips. He crouched down at her feet and began turning up the hem. She stood stiff as a board while he worked, which he couldn't bring himself to mind– after all, it made his job easier. He continued his work, pinning up the layers of fabric until he'd found a good length, and helped her step back down.

“What do you think?” he asked. “Can you move with that? Not tripping over yourself?”

She peeped down at her feet and took a few steps. “Yeah, I think so.” she said with a sigh, already seeming bored with the fitting. Pouting her lips, she carefully lowered herself onto the loveseat. The tightness of the dress wouldn't allow her to settle comfortably, though.

“Here– Let me–” Lennon sat beside her and pulled the zipper down, watching the way her body eased when she could breathe freely again. She slouched, and he couldn’t help thinking how small she looked. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask her what was wrong, but she beat him to the punch. She always did.

“Can I uh… can I ask you something?”

“Aye.” He nodded and shifted closer to her, careful not to sit on or pull at her dress. “Anything.”

“Bae’s mother.” she said, and nothing more as she waited for his reaction– his blessing to continue.

He blinked, eyebrows up to his hairline, and cleared his throat. “...Yes?”

“Were the two of you–?”

“Married?”

She closed her eyes and nodded. “Yeah.”

“For two and a half years.”

She pouted her lips, and he wondered what about that number she might be ruminating over. “Were you… were you nervous?” she asked. “About the wedding, I mean.”

Lennon let out a deep sigh and wrung his hands in his lap. It was far from something he liked to talk about, but for Belle he could manage it. “I proposed to Milah after she told me she was pregnant with Bae. I was… excited to start a family? I wouldn’t really say I was nervous, no. But then again, I… I didn’t really have time to be nervous. We ah, wanted to have the wedding before she started to show too much.”

Belle stared at the floor and didn’t say anything. He supposed she didn't have to.

He slid a hand over hers, giving her a reassuring squeeze. “I think it’s perfectly normal to be nervous, Belle.”

She sniffled and wiped her nose with the back of her wrist. “Was  _ she _ nervous, do you think?”

Lennon tilted his head and pressed his lips into a thin line. “I ah… I don’t know.” he admitted. “Ye know, I– I don’t think her heart was ever really in it, to be honest.”

He exhaled deeply and in a strange way, it felt like a weight off of his shoulders.  _ Milah never loved me. _

“Milah though… she was ah,  _ strong  _ in her way.” he said. “If she was nervous? Scared? She didn’t dare show it.”

Belle gave a weak little chuckle and nodded. It struck him then, how similar she and Milah were in some ways, despite being polar opposites in others, and his heart broke for her. How much of her strength and bravery, which he so admired, was a mask?

“What um– may I ask what happened?” she asked, wringing her hands in her lap.

He crushed the urge to reach out and take her hand again and cleared his throat. “I think we ah... we just wanted very different things out of life. I think she hoped she could… learn to love me, I guess. That we could make it work. But ah, she was wrong. We both were.”

Belle frowned and knit her brows together. “So it was… mutual?”

“Oh. No,” he scoffed. “Not at all. It devastated me at the time. But to be fair, I– I was hurt more for Bae’s sake than my own. I think a part of me always knew, that she didn't love me. So that part was easy. But it… it angered me, hurt me, that she would leave our son.” 

“You weren't afraid?”

Lennon had to think for a moment about what she meant. He was afraid of many things, after all. “...I was terrified.” he admitted. “My father was an alcoholic, and he left, and I don't remember much about him, except how hard he made things for us, my ma and I. So then for Bae's mother to leave, that history repeating itself, that  _ did _ frighten me. The thing is, I grew up bearing witness to how that affected my mother, and I thought, well, that's going to be me now. And how do I cope with that? How do I give Bae a better childhood than my own, when the cards are stacked so against me?”

Belle sniffled again and took his hand in her lap. “I'm sorry.” she said. “I shouldn't be bothering you with this.”

“It's… I'm okay with it now.” he said. “Milah and I. We were no good together. Ugly, even. I think it worked out for the best, not just for me, but for Bae. Things are tough, obviously. But we have each other. He might not have a lot of things, but he has his father's love, you know?”

Belle squeezed his hand and gave him a wan smile. “He does.” she said. “He really, really does.”

He cast his eyes on the floor and pressed his lips into a thin line. “I hope so.”

“Lennon. I  _ know _ so. Anyone can see how much you love your son. And he loves you.”

He clasped a hand over his mouth and nodded. They sat in companionable silence for several minutes before Belle sniffled again.

“How did you um… you said that you knew she didn't…”

Lennon looked up at the ceiling and scoffed. “The thing was… I was never enough for her.  _ We _ were never enough. There was always some…  _ thing _ in our way, some goal we were chasing after. If I got some job?  _ Then _ we could truly begin our life together. Or if we bought some house. Or moved to this city, or just waited until Bae got a little older and things were less stressful. If only this, if only that–  _ then _ we could be happy. We were both miserable, but we didn't want to accept the fact that it was  _ us. _ We kept finding things to blame it on. I think love– when you have it, truly… you can just be happy. Sure, life will be hard, throw all of these obstacles in your way. But it always will. That doesn't stop. If you can't love each other and be happy or raise each other up through the tough times, well– just don't hold your breath, ye know?”

Belle nodded slowly and took his hand. He shifted a bit and wrapped an arm over her shoulders, and she settled comfortably against him, resting her head on his chest.

“You're an incredibly smart, caring, beautiful woman, Belle.” he said. “You're the closest friend I've ever had, and I wish you all the happiness in the world.”

She drew a trembling breath and nodded. “You too.”

Lennon had never felt particularly strong. He'd never felt like he ever had anything to offer anyone. Never felt like a real man. But having Belle lean on him like this he could almost believe he was all of those things, and he'd gladly endure another conversation about his exes, about his mother, about anything, really, to have her lean on him again. Each rise and fall of her chest filled him with such warmth.

“You know…” Belle looked up at him, her lips pressed together as she fought back a smile. “These pins are kind of stabbing my ankles,” she snorted.

It was the cutest sound, her laughter, and he couldn't help laughing along with her. He leaned forward to look at the hem of the dress. “Aye. Let's get you out of that, shall we?”

He pushed himself up to his feet, and she nodded and giggled as he helped her up. She was looking back at him with a smile as she returned to the bedroom to change back into her clothes, and it made him feel positively buoyant. In a few minutes, she was back in the living room with the dress draped over one arm and the garment bag over the other.

She looked at him guiltily. “I can never get it back in.”

He shook his head and smiled, coming over to help. She held the bag open while he gingerly tucked the length of the dress inside, and she nearly poked him in the eye with the hanger when she started maneuvering it in place.

“Oh! Sorry!” she giggled and snorted again, and he joined her with a laugh of his own.

“Trying to take me out, hm?” he teased.

“...If I was, you'd already be dead, Mr Gold.” she said, narrowing her eyes at him and fighting another smile.

“...Doubt it.” he shrugged. “Falling off the ladder that day was no accident though, was it, Agent French? Just the latest in a series of botched assassination attempts!”

She burst into a fit of giggles and gave him a playful smack on the shoulder.

“Well, on one hand, I never suspected a thing.” he chuckled, grinning as he watched her bowling over. “I’ll give you that much.”

“Am I interrupting something?”

They both froze and turned their heads to where Greg had appeared, leaning against the doorframe.

“...Greg.” Belle whispered. “Hi.”

“I was looking all over for you downstairs, babe.” He held up a to-go bag from Granny's. “Thought I'd surprise you with lunch? Got you a salad.”

Belle schooled the smile from her face and cleared her throat. “Oh. Um. Lennon was just looking at my dress for me.”

“I see.” Greg said, his eyes wandering from her face and over to Lennon's. “Tell me, is that thing ugly or what?” he asked. “I keep telling her to just go out with my credit card and get something else already. She can't even fit in it, for Christ's sake.” he scoffed. “I told you to take it easy with the burgers and pancakes, Babe.”

“I…” Lennon wet his lips and looked to Belle. “I think it's beautiful, Belle.” he reassured her. “You look stunning in it.”

“Oh come on,” Greg muttered, “you don't think it's tacky?”

Lennon clenched his jaw.  _ “...tacky?” _ he said, finally looking Greg in the eyes. “No, no. Not the word I'd use to describe what the  _ bride _ is wearing.” He heard Belle stifle a giggle at that, and walked over to the loveseat to grab his keys and his cane. “That'll do for now, Belle.” He said, relieving her of the garment bag. “I'll try to have it ready for another fitting in two weeks.”

“Thank you.”

He struggled to handle the dress with his cane, but he managed well enough, giving Greg a tight-lipped smile before as he slipped out the door.

 


	5. Chapter 5

It had taken a month since their run-in at the grocery store, but Belle had finally convinced Lennon to come out and join her for lunch at Granny’s. He was trying to be more careful after Fiona had given him grief about not spending enough time with her at home– reducing his trips to the library to once a week and rushing Bae out the door as soon as his homework was finished. It was impossible to miss Belle’s disappointment when he left sooner than usual, but better to bear Belle’s disappointment than his mother’s scorn.

In retrospect though, it seemed ridiculous. Letting his mother dictate where he spent his free time. But it was so much easier to just keep his head down and avoid any confrontation. He’d tried putting his foot down in the past, but every time she only found a way to make him feel guilty for it. But now he was sitting across from Belle with Bae at his side. Warm sunlight was coming through the window beside their table, and none of those things felt like they mattered.

Bae swallowed the mouthful of the unsweetened iced tea he'd taken from Belle's glass and scowled. “It tastes like dirt.”

“It's an acquired taste for some people.” she laughed, and Lennon smiled.

Bae knit his brows together. “What's that mean?”

“It means it takes some getting used to.” Lennon said. “You have to try it a few times before you like it.”

“Oh.” Bae shrugged. He plucked one of the crayons the waitress had given him off the table– a black one, and began drawing a series of boxes across the back of his placemat. He got three down before suddenly pausing to look up at his father. “If you don't like something the first time, why would you keep trying it?”

Belle and Lennon laughed, and he rustled an affectionate hand through the his son’s hair, warmed by the way he wrinkled his nose in response. 

“A very good question.” Belle said, sliding the glass back toward her. “I think sometimes… you just  _ want _ to like something because you–” she pouted her lips and slouched her shoulders, “because you feel like you  _ should.” _

Her eyes slowly drifted to Lennon’s, and he felt his face grow hot. It felt as though there was some meaning he was supposed to get from the way she was looking at him, but he couldn't read it. Instead he just stared back and swallowed.

“That's silly.” Bae said, interrupting whatever kind of moment it was that they were having. Now he was adding windows and doors to the black boxes, and he gave the largest one in the middle a clock tower. The library.

Lennon coughed. “It might taste yucky at first, but it's better for you. Less sugar.”

“I guess.” Bae said. “But people should just drink what they think is yummy and that way they can be happy, instead of pretending they like something yucky. Ms Shirin always says you should always be yourself and not like things just because people tell you to.”

Now it was Lennon's eyes that were straying to Belle's. Was she happy, he wondered? Her behavior seemed so strange to him lately. He spent a week agonizing over the way she’d scurried out of the car when he dropped her off at the library, but she seemed determined to act as if it never happened. Part of him dismissed it as nothing more than the stress of planning the wedding. But the other part couldn't help hoping it was something else, and he hated himself for it. Belle was his friend. He wanted her to be happy. It's just that he wouldn't complain if one day she called the whole thing off and decided she'd be happier with  _ him. _ A foolish hope, certainly. But one he couldn't crush no matter how hard he tried. Was that wrong? He supposed it wasn't wrong to  _ have _ those feelings, just so long as he never acted on them.

_ “Two hamburgers, extra pickles.” _

Lennon blinked himself out of his thoughts and leaned away from the table as Granny set their plates down.

“...And one turkey sandwich and some fruit for the young man.” she said.

“They look delicious, Granny, thank you.” Belle said, smiling down at her plate. 

“Yes! Thank you Granny!”

“Thank you, Miss Lucas.”

“Enjoy.” she said with a little nod before bustling back to the kitchen.

Bae wasted no time digging in, while Belle and Lennon took turns exchanging bottles of condiments. Lennon watched with a smile as she squirt a generous amount of ketchup on her burger, and another beside it. Whether it was ketchup on her burger or a lake of maple syrup to go with her pancakes, he couldn’t help finding something endearing about how thoroughly Belle enjoyed food. If it weren't for his mother, he could imagine inviting her over and making her dinner. Would she smile at what he prepared for her the way she did at her plate here at Granny’s, he wondered? 

“So, um… how's work?” Belle asked, swirling a French fry around in the puddle of ketchup on her plate.

“Oh.” He blinked and shook his head, eschewing the little fantasy he’d been indulging in. “...Good.” 

“That's good.” she nodded and popped the fry into her mouth.

“I've ah, been getting more hours lately. Used to be about twenty-five a week, but it's been more like… thirty, thirty-five the past month.”

“Oh, that's great!”

“Aye. It’s been good.” he said again. “What about you? The library?”

“Ugh.” She rolled her eyes and took a moment to finish chewing. “They want to cut the budget  _ again. _ Can you believe that?”

Lennon scowled. “Suppose I’m not surprised.”

“I don’t know how they expect me to  _ run _ the library, when I’m too busy running around trying to  _ fund _ the library. Or more accurately, find more corners to cut.”

“Well, your annual fundraiser always does well, no?”

“Not well enough, I’m afraid.” she sighed. “Not if this new budget gets approved. And I don’t know how many more times I can take a cut in pay to compensate for it.”

“I’m sorry, Belle. Truly.”

She gave him a rueful smile. “Yeah, and then I have Greg telling me to just give up. Quit and stay at home.”

Lennon shook his head. “No. You can’t do that. You  _ love  _ that library.”

“I know. I won’t.” she said, lifting her chin and squaring her shoulders. “Not when the people of Storybrooke are depending on me.” she declared with a little giggle, and _ gods, _ could she be any more lovely?

“The library means the world to me and Bae, you know.” he said. “I don't know what we'd do without it.”

“...Thank you.” Belle said, fighting back a smile and looking back down at her plate. “It means a lot to hear that.”

He felt like he should say something to that, but what? Not  _ you're welcome– _ that didn't make sense. Instead he just watched her until she finally picked up her burger and began eating, and he took it as an invitation to do the same. The table was silent from there on, save for the sound of chewing, the clearing of someone's throat, the thud of a glass being set down.

Belle must have been getting full, as she started to slow down. She dusted some of the salt off of her fingers and cleared her throat. “How's uh, how's your mom doing?”

Lennon took a large bite out of his burger, buying himself a moment. There was a certain tone she always used when she asked about his mother– cautious, curious. He'd never told her the extent of it, but she knew. He knew she knew. Or perhaps she only suspected. Regardless, she was polite enough not to say it out loud.

“She's… fine.”

His customary answer earned him one of her customary wan smiles. “How are um… how are  _ you _ doing?” she asked quietly, leaning across the table slightly. She reached her hand out as if to take his, but stopped halfway.

Lennon’s heart pounded in his chest. A thundering bass drum lodged in his throat. He glanced at Bae, who seemed to be in his own little world, busy coloring over the back of his placemat.

“I-I’m alright, ye know?” he mumbled, feigning a sudden interest in the scene out the window. “It's fine.”

She slouched a little at that. “I just… worry about you sometimes.” she said. “All the running around you do, taking care of him,” she nodded toward Bae, “your  _ mother… _ It's got to be a lot of stress.”

“Aye, it's a lot.” he said. “And… and I'll admit, my mother was never the most  _ caring _ or supportive person. But you know, that's… she’s  _ had _ to make herself that way– T-To get on in the world. Being a single mum and all that.”

Belle glanced down at the table again and pressed her lips into a thin line. “Well... I'm glad  _ you _ haven't had to do that.” she said. And at that, her hand finished its path, sliding over his. “You're a good man, and a good father, Lennon. With so much love in your heart.”

“...I-I suppose,” were the clumsy words that came tumbling out if his mouth to fill the silence. 

She chuckled and shook her head. “I guess what I’m trying to say is that I'm always here for you, you know? If you ever want to talk or vent or… whatever.”

“Yeah,” he nodded, feeling himself relax as the topic seemed to come to a close. “Yeah, will do.”

He quickly took another bite of his burger, and the table fell to silence again.

“You know–” Belle started, but cut herself off by coughing into her fist.

His eyes darted up from his plate to her face.  _ Was she choking?  _ No. No, thank goodness. “...What?”

“It’s just… I may have been um, looking around. At uh, some places to rent? For you?”

“Oh no,” Lennon scoffed, shaking his head. He could feel himself blushing and his mouth already getting dry. “No, I-I– I don’t think I’m ready for that, Belle. What I make–”

“I know it’s a big step.” she said, taking his hand again. “But I’ve done my research into some government assistance programs you should be eligible for, a-and I’ve found a few places available that should be in your budget.”

“That’s–” he stammered, his head still shaking back and forth. “I don’t know.”

“Why not?” she asked. “Wouldn’t you like that? To have your own place with Bae?”

“I– Of course I would. But…”

“Just come look at them with me. Please?” she said with her pleading blue eyes. “I can set up appointments to check a few places out on your day off, no problem. It wouldn’t hurt to look, and if nothing else, you get a better sense of what’s out there.”

“I…” He reached up to scratch his jaw, avoiding her gaze.  _ Could he? _ Could he go back out on his own? If Belle said it was possible, then it must be. Oh, how he wanted it. But the thought of actually  _ doing _ it made him squirm, made his heart race, his palms sweat, his mouth dry. “You… you'd do that for me?” he asked. “C-come with me? T-t-to look?”

“Yeah, of course.” she smiled, taking his hand again. “We can make a day of it!” she winked. “Hang out. Look at some apartments. Do lunch. What do you say?”

Lennon looked at Bae again, who was finishing up his drawing. The buildings were colored in, cars were parked in the street, and pedestrians filled the sidewalk. One of them he could identify as himself, and another as Belle. Between them was Bae, holding each of their hands.

“Okay.” he nodded. “Let's do it.”

They decided on next Thursday. Mr Geppetto was giving Lennon the day off, Bae would be in school, and Thursdays were slow at the library, so Belle could have Mrs Potts cover for her.

Too soon, the sun was no longer casting its light on their table, but rather the wall across the diner. Their plates had been cleared away and the check had been paid. Belle had offered to pay, but Lennon refused. She insisted though, so in the end, he let her pay for Bae's meal.

Bae slid his drawing across the table to her, saying she could have it– that way it could be safe. She gave Lennon a curious look at that, but had the mind to laugh it off and accept her mission with a smile.

Lennon scoot gracelessly out of the booth, and once he got Bae's coat on, Belle handed him his cane. They exchanged goodbyes outside– He went for a handshake. She laughed and gave him a hug and a kiss on the cheek that made his face feel hot.

His cheeks were still warm longer after they'd parted ways, walking off in opposite directions. Outside was cold, and the wind whipped their faces, fighting against them as they made their trip back to his mother's.

“Papa?”

Lennon looked down at his son, whose eyes were fixed on the sidewalk. “Yes, Bae?”

“I don’t want to go home,” he mumbled. “I don’t like grandma.”

Lennon stopped walking. He figured as much, but he’d never heard his son vocalize it. Supporting himself on his cane, he crouched down and looked into Bae’s eyes, but the boy looked away. “Son. Son, look at me.”

Bae nodded and managed a passing glance at his father before fixing his eyes on the ground. 

“Bae. I’m going to ask you something, and it’s very important that you tell me the truth.  Do you understand?”

“Mhmm.”

“You know that you can tell me anything– no matter how bad it is– and you won’t get in trouble, right?”

“Mhmm.”

“Bae. Has grandma ever hurt you?”

He shook his head.

“Are you  _ sure?” _

He nodded.

“Has she ever said or done anything nasty to you? Anything that made you angry, or-or want to cry?”

Bae shook his head, but his bottom lip trembled. “I don’t like it when she tears up my pictures!” he blurted, his breaths quickening from an impending sob. “I liked them and she said they were stupid!”

“Oh, son. It's alright, come here,” he whispered, pulling him closer and rubbing a soothing hand over his back. He pressed a kiss to the crown of his head. “It's alright. I'm sorry. I'm sorry she ruined your pictures. I know you worked very hard on them. She shouldn't have done that.”

“Mhmm.” Bae sniffled.

“I… I know you don't like staying with grandma. I don't like it either, and I'm trying very hard to make sure we don't have to stay with her anymore.”

“I know...” he mumbled into his chest.

“I love you more than anything, Bae. If grandma does anything to you or your drawings ever again, you tell me right away. And remember that no matter what, I will never, ever be angry at you. Do you understand?”

“Mhmm.”

“Good.” He held him tighter for a moment longer before pushing himself back to his feet. “Now let's go, before you catch your death, aye?”

Bae nodded and squeezed his hand, and they continued on their way.


	6. Chapter 6

Lennon enjoyed the process of threading his machine. Winding the bobbin, sliding the the thread through the guides and the eye of the needle. It was a delicate process, and while he could do it in his sleep, he still liked to take his time and mind each step. The ritual of it relaxed him and helped him focus, providing a transition, a mental cue, for the work he was about to do. He got the fabric of the dress lined up and set the presser foot down, then looked over his shoulder again at the bedroom door.

It was still closed. Just as it was fifteen minutes ago. He took a deep breath and pressed down gently on the foot pedal, wincing at the sound of the needle as it began to bounce up and down. He started slowly, but soon adjusted to the sound and relaxed, giving himself permission to start working faster.

Every sound he heard beyond the door triggered another glance over his shoulder. A fear of being discovered. He'd almost finished his work on the hem by the time he convinced himself to stop checking. The whirring of the machine soothed him once he let it, and he thought back to all the lovely dresses he'd worked with before, and how good it felt to finally work on another. This, he enjoyed. This, he was good at.

To think, that on her wedding day, Belle would be wearing something he’d worked on. Something he’d studied in intimate detail, taken apart, reconstructed, and made to fit specifically for her, and her alone. She wanted to wear this dress so she could have a piece of her mother with her on her special day, and in a sense, it would be a piece of him too. Something she would hold onto and keep forever, something she would cherish for decades to come.

The doorknob jostled behind him then, tearing away the content little oasis he'd created for himself in an instant. He sucked in a breath and froze, not daring to turn around.

“Why is this door closed?” Fiona asked.

Lennon flinched and made a helpless attempt to hide what he was doing from her.

“You know I don't like closed doors in my house, Lennon.”

“I– I'm sorry, I-I-I forgot.”

“What are doing in here, hm? Are you trying to hide something from me?”

“Nothing. I just…” he trailed off, knowing there was no point in trying to hide the dress from her at this point.

She stomped over and scowled at the sewing machine. She reached for the fabric, and he winced, fearing what she might do to it. “What's this?”

“It's nothing, it’s just–”

“It's that little tart’s dress, isn't it?”

She let go of the dress with disgust at the realization– as though it carried some kind of flesh-eating bacteria.

With her hands off if it, Lennon could breathe again, and let out a deep sigh of relief.

“How much is she paying you?”

“I-I…” he stammered.  _ Just lie. Just lie. Fifteen an hour. Four hundred. Anything. _

Fiona shook her head. “She isn't, isn't she?”

“I– I offered, mum.” he said. “She was going to, but I-I-I–”

“You couldn't help thinking with your knob like some horny schoolboy, could you?”

“No, I just wanted to– t-to do something nice.”

_ “Do something nice?” _ she scoffed. “Do something  _ nice? _ Let me get this straight: I let you and Bae live in my home, never asking a _ thing _ of you in return. Do I ever get anything so much as a  _ thank you? _ No. In fact, you don’t even seem to think your mother is worthy of your company, with the way you spend all your time at that  _ damned _ library! Here I put a roof over your head, feed you and the  _ mistake  _ you made with that whore, play babysitter while you ‘look for work’. You want to  _ do something nice?” _ she asked, stepping closer and grabbing his shoulder. “Why don’t you start by showing some bloody  _ appreciation  _ around here!?”

A sick feeling filled Lennon’s stomach. He clenched his jaw and took several deep breaths, trying to will it away.

“What’s the matter?” she pushed. “You can’t–”

“He’s not a mistake.” he said, his voice small and cracking and weak.

“I’m sorry,” she scoffed. “What was that? I couldn’t hear you.”

His lip quivered as the urge to cry took over him, and he had to bite down on his lip to crush it.

“Speak up.” she said. “Be a man for once in your life. Look me in the eyes and speak up.”

He forced himself to lift his gaze from the floor and up to her face. Her eyes were cold and dark, and they seemed to sap away what little courage he’d managed to scrounge together just so he could look at her.  _ He's not a mistake. He's not a mistake. _ The words were there, in him somewhere– but they were being held down by a crushing weight and wouldn’t budge. And what kind of a man did that make him? Unable to utter five little words to defend his own son?

“He–”

One syllable. One syllable and he cracked, turning away from her and choking out a sob.

“...That’s what I thought.” she said, offering no apologies, no comforting touch, no shred of remorse, as she looked down at him, watching him cry. “You want to waste your time trying to earn the affection of another tramp who couldn’t care less about you? Fine.”

She sat down on the edge of the bed and stared, and Lennon didn’t know what to make of it. He couldn’t decide what she wanted. What he should do. Where he should look. He should stop sniveling at the very least, but he couldn’t.

“Well? Go on.” she said. “Let’s see all this work you’re doing for free when you could actually be making yourself useful and supporting your family for once.”

He dried his tears, sniffling as he turned back to the sewing machine. He couldn’t bring himself to press down on the foot pedal though, like he had no control of his body.

“When you were a boy, I didn’t have the luxury of doing things for people just to  _ be nice.  _ Everything I did was about providing for  _ you.  _ To think, how hard I worked, how much I sacrificed for  _ you. _ So, come on– let's see what you think is more important than providing for your son.”

Once again, she was trying to make him feel guilty– and it was working. _What_ _had he been thinking, offering to do the work for free? How much money could he be making? What kind of things could he be getting for Bae with that money?_ He looked down at the needle and felt his stomach begin to fill with a sickening shame.

“What's the matter now?” She asked. “You want to cry again? Lot of good  _ that _ does,” she said.

“I'm sorry.” he whispered.

She scoffed and stood up, wiping some kind of imaginary filth off of her clothes. She walked to the door and just stood there for a moment, watching him. “...This door stays open.” she said, before turning around and leaving the room.

It took almost half an hour before Lennon could bring himself to continue working. And no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't find his way back to the safe harbor he'd been in earlier. Every stitch made him feel more and more disgusted with himself, and when he was finished, there was no feeling of accomplishment, sense of pride over a job well done. He lost track of how long he'd been sitting there, staring at the wall until he heard her footsteps coming down the hall. This time he was numb to it. His pulse didn't quicken, his palms didn't sweat, his lungs didn't catch, nor did his eyes blink when she appeared in the doorway.

“It's six-thirty.” she said. “Are you coming down to make dinner or not?”

It wasn't a question. She wasn't asking him, she was telling him.

He forced himself to nod. “I'll be right there.”


	7. Chapter 7

She was waiting for him to buckle up. Thursday had come around, and they were going to spend the afternoon looking at places for him to live. Lennon had successfully convinced Fiona that Mr Geppetto had called him in to work to explain where he was going, and drove to the library to meet Belle instead. She insisted they take her car so she could drive– because she didn't want him to worry about finding the places and getting lost. He wasn't about to argue that since his stomach was already churning, so he hopped in the passenger seat of the sedan without any protest.

“Lennon, are you alright?”

He stared ahead through the windshield and said nothing, offering only a subtle nod.

Belle put the car back in park and turned to face him. “What happened?”

“I'm fine.”

“No, you're not.” she sighed, reaching out and taking his hand. He looked down at the way she cradled it. The gentle, reassuring squeeze she gave him.

“I know you, Lennon.” she said with a weak smile. “Something's bothering you. Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

“She saw me working on your dress.” he said simply. “She wasn't happy about it. That's all.”

“Oh.” Belle studied his face for a moment and tilted her head.

He pulled his eyes off of the road and looked at her, finding a tight-lipped smile on her face. 

“Well, I mean… is she um…  _ ever happy about anything?” _ she said, fighting back a little snort of laughter.

He couldn't help smiling at that, the heaviness in his heart becoming lighter in her presence. “I… no. Not that I can recall.” he said with a weak chuckle.

She snorted again, but quickly shook it off, her expression fading back to something more serious. She squeezed his hand again, tighter this time. “I'm sorry.” she said. “I didn't realize how…” she trailed off. “I-I don't want any trouble for you or Bae. You don't have to– I can find somebody else to–”

He shook his head. “No, Belle. I… I want to. Still.”

“Well, maybe you could use the space above the library to work?”

“No. I-It’s fine.” he assured. “But thank you.”

Things always felt fine around Belle. That was the effect she had on him. Made him feel stronger and braver, and like next time, he wouldn't let his mother walk over him. Next time, when she challenged him with a  _ what's the matter now? _ he'd damned well tell her.

“Okay.” Belle smiled, not quite sounding convinced, but satisfied enough to drop the subject. “So…” she opened the glove box and pulled out a folder, dropping it in his lap. “These are all the places I found. The one on Spinner Street is my favorite– it's a manufactured home with a good-sized yard for rent. Most of the others are second or third floor apartments, which I figured wouldn't be the best thing for your ankle?”

Lennon finally opened the folder, finding it packed with printouts of real estate listings. Some of them had a star scribbled in the corner in pink highlighter, and others had little notes in pen, pointing out the pros and cons of the property, or questions to ask the landlord. _Same_ _school district. No wash/dry. Utilities included? Off of I-295– noise? 2nd fl., no elevator. Walking dist. from library._

He glanced over the first few pages, not really reading or comprehending them. He didn't feel ready for this. Not at all. His head was spinning and his stomach was twisting into terrible knots.

“Hey.” Belle rested a hand on his shoulder, instantly grounding him. “Lennon. This is a  _ good _ thing. You  _ deserve _ to have a place of your own.” Her thumb rubbed over his shoulder in a soothing manner, and she leaned across the console and lowered her voice to an almost-whisper. “I know it's a lot, but I'm going to be with you the whole time. I'll do all the talking if you want. You just look and tell me yea or nay, and if nothing floats your boat, that's fine. No pressure.”

He took a deep breath and nodded, rubbing his palms over his jeans. “...Aye. Alright.”

“So… any of them stand out to you?” She smiled and reached across his lap, thumbing through the papers and plucking a few of her favorites out. “How about this one?”

He looked at the page she was showing him. It featured a photo of an old bungalow-style kit home built in the forties. It didn't have much of a yard, but it _ did _ have a yard, so that was something. It was on the less desirable side of town that hadn't been gentrified quite yet, which he had to thank for the reasonable price tag– it was still in Bae's school district, too, which was important. The vinyl siding was a dusty shade of pink, and it had a little porch in front, which called to him. 

“It's nice.” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching into a timid little smile the longer he looked at it.

“It's charming, isn't it?” she said. “It's old though, so it might have some issues. “The landlord said she can show us around at three.”

He nodded again and began fastening his seatbelt. “Okay.”

The drove by some of the properties, and took quick tours of others. He supposed they were all okay, but nothing about them really sang to him. They were too pricey, or had noisy neighbors, or impractical floorplans, just didn't feel right, or some other sort of thing to put him off. But in what felt like no time at all, it was already three o’clock and they were pulling up to the pink bungalow he so admired. Belle flashed him a smile as they walked up to the charming little porch where a brunette was waiting. Her features look pointed and cold, and the blue sheath dress she was wearing had a gaudy floral pattern of bubblegum-pink roses that he didn't particularly care for.

“You must be Belle.” she said, extending her hand. “And I see you've brought your father?”

Belle stopped shaking the woman's hand and blanched. “No… this is actually–”

“Oh. Your husband?” she tried again, raking her eyes over Lennon, her nose wrinkling with disdain. “I'm sorry.”

Belle's mouth hung open, and he took the opportunity to jump in.

“Lennon.” he said, offering his hand. “Just a friend. I'm ah, the one looking, actually.”

“...Oh. Well I'm Skye,” she said with an artificial smile, proceeding to fumble with the keys instead of shaking his hand. “Let's get started, shall we?”

It was small, but it was charming. There were plenty of well-placed windows for natural light and nice hardwood floors in most of the space. It had a fairly large dine-in kitchen, which was nice– apparently one of the previous owners had taken down the wall separating the kitchen and dining spaces in the eighties. It had vinyl flooring which had become very discolored, plain white laminate cabinets, and dated appliances– but Lennon could picture him and Bae sitting in there and enjoying dinner together, and that was all that mattered, really.

The single bathroom wasn’t ideal, with the free-standing sink that afforded no counter space whatsoever. But it had a small storage cabinet below it and the mirror above it doubled as a medicine cabinet. The second bedroom was smaller than he would have liked, but he figured the living area was spacious enough to give Bae room to play.

All in all, he liked it very much. Belle seemed to be pointing out minor problems left and right, though. Cracks in the drywall. Stains in the walls that she thought might be mold or roof leaks. She didn't shy from testing all the faucets either, or plugging her phone charger into all of the outlets.

“Rent is 850 a month.” Skye reminded them as they finished up the short tour, returning to the living room.

Lennon looked to Belle and frowned. “That doesn't leave much for anything else...”

Belle cleared her throat. “And does that include any utilities, or no?”

“Includes water and heating. Electric is usually about another seventy-five on top of that.”

“You um– you said you usually rent this out month-to-month?”

“That’s correct.”

“Would you be willing to negotiate a smaller payment on a contract? Six months, twelve months?”

“Hm… I think so, yes. Perhaps, 800 for six months, 750 for the year?”

Lennon felt his shoulders ease at that.

“...Make it 700.” Belle said.

Skye blinked and tilted her head. “Excuse me?”

“Make it 700.” she repeated. “The water pressure leaves much to be desired. Not to mention it took nearly five whole minutes to get hot water in the shower.”

“Oh. Well–” Skye gave them a polite smile. “The previous tenant never brought that to my attention. I would be willing to adjust the price if that’s the case.”

“And almost all the power outlets are loose. That’s a nuisance at best, and a fire hazard at worst.”

“A simple repair I can make before you move in, I’m sure.”

“If you weren’t aware of these issues until now, how can we know you’ll be responsive to any other problems that may come up?”

“Well, I have a lot of properties, sweetie. It’s hard to stay on top of which–”

“Which only  _ adds  _ to my point.” Belle cut in. “A rent payment should include the cost of any maintenance and repairs the management will provide, and I have to say that I’m not impressed. Compared to some of the other properties we’ve looked at, you should be  _ embarrassed  _ by the condition of this place.”

Skye pursed her lips and cleared her throat. “700, you said?”

  
  
  


*****

  
  
  


“So? What do you think?” Belle asked as they got back in the car. “700 for a two bedroom house in this area is pretty darn good.”

Lennon frowned. “It is…”

She tilted her head and narrowed her eyes at him. “But?”

“Ah dunno.” he shrugged. “It all just seems so sudden, ye know? I-I don't think I'm ready. To move out on my own.”

“We've gone through your budget about a dozen times, Lennon. You can do this!”

“Yeah, but– What if– what if I lose my job? Then what?”

“What if  _ I _ lose my job?” Belle said. “What if  _ Greg _ does? Lennon, anyone can lose their job at any time. Nothing in life is certain, when you really think about it. You have to be willing to take risks.”

“I just… I don't see what the rush is.” he countered. “My mother's isn't so bad, and why take on the expense of living here when I could just stay where I am. It's a lovely house, honestly, I practically live like a king there.”

“Lennon..” Belle groaned. “You don't honestly believe that, do you? Live like a king? Like the king of  _ what? _ Your mother is using you. She emotionally manipulates you. She makes you and Bae miserable.”

“Oh, now come on– I wouldn't say  _ that…” _

“Your son. He never wants to go home. And you– you had to lie to her just so you could come out with me today! That’s… that’s not  _ normal, _ Lennon!” she cried. “She’s your mother! She should be happy and excited to see you getting back on your feet again!”

He looked away and picked at the sleeve of his shirt, rolling the fabric between his fingers.

Belle sighed, rolling her eyes in exasperation, and took his hand. “Lennon. When you first came over to do my dress fitting… you told me you were afraid. That you were terrified of history repeating itself. That you wanted to give Bae a childhood better than your own. And you  _ have _ been doing that. You show him so much love and support– love and support that you never had. But what about  _ you? _ Don't you want to be free from your mother's constant ridicule?  Don’t you understand that you deserve that much for yourself? Because you do. And you can have it. You just have to take it.”

She was right. She was absolutely, completely, one hundred percent right. He was making excuses and he knew it, but he just couldn't stop himself.

“What are you afraid of? Really?”

“I don’t know,” he lied. “I-It’s just… she’s my ma, you know? She’s… she’s all we’ve got, me and Bae. She’s… family, and she’s… she’s getting older. I-I– think she doesn’t want to be alone. I think that would devastate her.”

“You don’t owe her that! She hurts you and she hurts Bae. But you owe it to  _ yourself  _ to be someplace where you feel safe and happy!” she argued, and he could see tears beginning to form in her eyes.

“I'm sorry, Belle.” he said. “I-I just can't.”

She huffed and stared ahead, gripping the steering wheel. “Don't apologize to me, Lennon.” she said, wiping her eyes and starting the car. “Apologize to yourself.”


	8. Chapter 8

He and Belle didn’t say a word on the drive back to the library. She mumbled an apology as he climbed out of the car, about how she hadn’t meant to push him, and that his home life was his own business. It made him feel worse. Not in that it made him feel guilty, like his mother’s backhanded apologies did. But in that she seemed so genuinely upset about the whole thing and he didn’t want her to feel bad because he knew she was only trying to help. That was the person she was, after all. The woman he loved. Someone who helped people. 

As he started the Cadillac, Lennon realized it was time to pick up Bae from school. That relaxed him a little. If anything was going to cheer him up, it was his son’s smiling face. And it did. Bae told him everything he’d learned in school today, and about how Mr Shirin picked him to lead story time and what a good job she told him he’d done. His watercolor from art class had even been chosen to be displayed in the front office, right next to a bunch of drawings done by some fifth graders.

Bae began on his homework as soon as they got home, and Lennon carefully dodged all of Fiona’s needling questions about how work was. She grew tired of him eventually, returning her attention to the soap opera she’d been watching when he arrived. He snuck upstairs to work on Belle’s dress, pleased with the knowledge that his mother was occupied. He was ready to sew the bodice back together, and then it would be ready for another fitting.

About an hour had passed when he heard a sound from downstairs. He released the foot pedal on his machine and listened for it again, straining to hear it over the drumming of his pulse. It was his mother’s voice. He hitched out of the bedroom, down the hall, and halfway down the stairs to peer into the living room, trying not to make too much noise with his cane.

“It’s me and Papa and Miss Belle.” Bae said, answering the question Lennon hadn’t quite heard from his room. He was seated in front of the coffee table, an assortment of crayons littering the surface.

_ “Miss Belle?” _ Fiona muttered, stepping closer and looming over his drawing. “What’s so special about her, hm?”

“She’s nice and smart and pretty and I like her and Papa likes her too.”

“What about me?” she asked, her voice suddenly softer. “Don’t you ever draw grandma?”

Bae shrugged. “I don’t know. I just like to draw things that make me happy.”

Fiona scowled at that, and Lennon almost had to laugh, but he managed to keep quiet.

“Is that right?” she said, and just like that, her voice was cold and cutting again.

“Mhm. Miss Belle makes Papa smile a lot, so I like it when he’s happy.”

Fiona pursed her lips. “I’m sure she does…”

“I think Papa makes her happy too.”

“Is that what you think?” she snipped. “You think she cares about you and your papa?”

“Mhm. She helps me with school and she helped Papa get his new job so we won’t have to live with you anymore.”

_ “Give me that.”  _ Fiona snarled, swiping the drawing off of the table. 

“Hey!”

“I’ve had enough of this. Now finish your homework.”

“I already did!” Bae said. “And I wasn’t done with that! Give it back!”

“You’re lying.” she said, beginning to crumple it into a ball. Lennon kept watching, clenching his jaw and slowly descending the steps.

“No! You’ll ruin it!” Bae leapt up to take it from her, but she held it up out of his grasp, and used her other hand to grab his arm. 

That wouldn’t do.

Lennon rushed down the stairs to intervene. “Don’t you touch him.” he hissed.

“Well now, come on.” Fiona laughed, “He needs to stop wasting all of his time drawing silly pictures. He needs to learn to grow up.”

“No, no.” he said, pointing a trembling finger at where she was gripping Bae’s arm. “You need to… to t-take your hand off of my son.”

“Oh now, what’s this?” she asked, shoving Bae away. “You finally grow a spine?”

He ignored her, rushing over to Bae and resting his hands protectively over his shoulders. “Why don’t you go upstairs, Bae?” he whispered. “Me and grandma have to talk, alright?”

Bae nodded and dragged his feet away, his brown eyes fixed on his father as he crept up the stairs. He lingered at the top of the landing for a moment, but Lennon shot him a pointed glance, sending him on his way.

“And just what is it you’d like to talk about, my boy?” Fiona asked with patronizing nonchalance.

“You.” he hissed and stepped up to her, his cane knocking loudly against the hardwood floors with each step.

Fiona tilted her head and furrowed her brows. “...me?”

“Don’t you ever lay a finger on my son ever again.” he grit through his teeth.

“What?” she scoffed. “It’s not like I actually  _ hurt _ him– he's my  _ grandson _ for heaven's sake! I love my boys, you know that.”

“That may be so, mother. But your love is something ugly and twisted, and you already do more than enough damage with your words.” he said.  _ “His father would know.” _

“Oh, don't be so dramatic!” she laughed. “All those years? I was only trying to toughen you up! Clearly, I went too easy on you.”

“You do not _ touch _ my son!” he barked. “You do not  _ speak _ to my son! Do you understand me!?”

She looked down at the floor and pursed her lips. 

“I’ve had to listen to my son tell me that he doesn't want to go home because he doesn't like his grandma! I watched him  _ cry _ because she feels the need to rip away the one little thing he has that he enjoys! It's bad enough he hasn't got any friends. That the other kids treat him like he's some kind of freak because of who his father is, but my son  _ will not _ endure another second of that kind of treatment when he is at home!”

Fiona wiped some imaginary dirt off of her dress and put on a polite smile. “...I just think you need to stop babying him, is all.”

“You don't get to make that decision!” he shouted. “He is  _ my  _ son! I am his  _ father, _ and he will know nothing but love and support when he is with his family! And if you can’t provide that to him, then you have no place in it!”

The grin on Fiona’s face widened and she took a step back. “My, my… Looks like I did toughen you up, after all.” Her eyes skimmed over his features, wrought with anger, and she reached out to cup his cheek. “I'm  _ proud _ of you, son.”

Lennon hated the way those words soothed him. The way they seemed to fill a void in his heart.  _ I'm proud of you, son. _ He shook it away.

“I don’t want your pride.” he said.

“Excuse me?”

“You don’t get to be proud of me.” he repeated. “You didn’t toughen me up, mother. You didn’t make me a man. You made me  _ afraid. _ You made me ashamed of who I am, and  _ this? _ This right now is  _ my _ doing. I didn’t grow a spine  _ because  _ of you, I’m learning to respect myself in  _ spite _ of you.”

Her eyes darkened into something sinister and ugly. “You have some nerve to speak to your mother like that. After everything I did for you? Let me guess– that little tramp gave you a pep-talk, didn’t she?”

“Her name is Belle. And she’s done more for me and for Bae in these past three years than you ever did.”

Fiona reeled back and scoffed. “I gave you a roof over your–”

“And what else, ma!? What else? Did you ever read a story to him? Did you ever kiss his scrapes when he fell? Ever make him smile after a bad day? Help him with his schoolwork? Comfort him when he was scared? Encourage him to do the things that he enjoys? Literally–  _ anything  _ to make him feel loved and good about himself? Because you certainly didn’t do any of those things for me!”

“Oh, you think I’m so terrible, do you? So cruel? Is it so wrong of me, that I tried to prepare my boys for the real world? The world where people  _ leave? _ Where the only person you can depend on is yourself?”

“That’s a lie and you know it.” Lennon said. “You don’t give a damn about what’s best for me. I get a job, and you tell me all the reasons it’s a waste of my time. I meet a friend who makes me feel good about myself, and you try to keep us apart. I try to use my talents to do something nice for her, and you twist it into something I should be ashamed of.”

Fiona pursed her lips and glanced away, so he stepped closer.

“You don’t  _ want  _ me to do better for myself. You want me to stay here, in this house, because you’re  _ afraid. _ You’re afraid of being alone, so you just keep chipping away at my sense of self-worth until I’m convinced there’s nothing out there for me. That it’s not even worth it for me to try.” He paused to catch his breath, his heart racing with adrenaline. He didn’t realize until now, how badly his hands were trembling and his knees were shaking. How close he was to tears. “You’re my  _ mother!” _ he choked out with a sob, and she looked down at the floor. “I looked up to you! I loved you! I wouldn’t have left you, ma! You just had to  _ love me back!”  _

She flinched and closed her eyes, still refusing to look at him.

“And that’s–” he sniveled, “And that’s why when I get out of this house–  _ and I will– _ it will be the  _ last _ you see of me and my son. And the only person you’ll have to blame for that is yourself.”

He was shaking violently by the end of his outburst, but she was still as stone. His breaths were heavy, trembling things, while she said nothing. He didn’t know if a minute had passed, or an hour, but finally, she lifted her chin and looked him in the eyes.

“I’m sorry you see it that way.” she said, brushing past him and into the kitchen.


	9. Chapter 9

He and Bae didn’t have many belongings, which Lennon decided was for the best. After he’d calmed down from his argument with Fiona, the first thing he did was call Belle to tell him he was ready. She didn’t ask for any details, and they made plans to meet with Skye again about the house later that week. He signed the lease with a trembling hand, but with once it was done, it was a huge weight off of his shoulders. One that he hadn’t even realized he’d been carrying.

He’d been stowing his things in the trunk of the car and bringing them over to the house on his lunch break, and today, after picking up Bae from school, they were officially moving in. Fiona wasn’t to know about it, and as much as it pained Lennon to keep the move from his son, it was a secret he didn’t want to burden him with until he knew it was safe. The last thing he wanted for for Fiona to suspect anything and press his son for answers– even though she hardly showed her face around the house since that night. They’d bump into each other in the kitchen, and he’d nod, and she’d look down at the floor and walk away.

Furniture was scarce, but Belle’s friend Leroy had helped him get the essentials brought in. Most of what savings he had left after the two-month deposit went toward new mattresses, sheets, towels, and a few secondhand pieces like a dresser, a desk, and a loveseat. Everything else he could add later as he could afford it.

Bae was silent as he showed him around the house, and Lennon hoped it wasn't too much of a shock to him. His brown eyes wandered over the walls, from window to window, remaining expressionless.

“This is your room,” Lennon told him, pushing open the door to the smaller bedroom with the twin size bed. 

“Where does grandma sleep?” Bae asked.

Lennon crouched down beside him, resting his hands on his shoulders. “Grandma won't be living here with us.” he said. “It's just gonna be you and me.”

“Oh.” Bae pouted for a second, then shrugged. “Okay.”

“Belle is going to look after you when I can't. And if  _ she  _ can’t, you’ll have a babysitter. Is that alright with you?”

He smiled and nodded. “Mhm!”

“Good.” Lennon said, rustling a hand through his hair.

There was a knock at the door then, and for an instant, Lennon wasn’t sure if he wanted to answer it or not. What if it was his mother? Was it possible that she knew where they were? What would she do? What would  _ he _ do?

“Why don’t you ah… get started and put your clothes away, hm?” 

“Okay.” Bae shrugged and went into his room, prodding through the garbage bag full of his clothes.

“And make sure you _ fold _ them,” he reminded. “Don't just bunch them up– That's how we get wrinkles.”

_ “Okay, _ Papa…” Bae grumbled.

Lennon watched with a smile while his son laid out a t-shirt on the bed and gingerly began folding the sleeves in. He then looked back at the front door and swallowed. Dragging his feet, he went over to peer through the peephole. Every muscle in his body relaxed at what he saw though, and he rushed to open the door.

_ “Belle.”  _ he said.

She bounced on her toes with a big smile on her face, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. “Lennon. Hi.”

“...Hi.”

“May I come in?”

When was the last time anyone had asked him that? Too long. But this was  _ his _ home now, and  _ he _ got to decide who could and could not come in. Whether his door was open or closed. “Aye. Aye, of course.”

She stepped inside, and he noticed she was holding something behind her back, hiding it from view. “The place looks great.”

He knew it wasn't much, and his furniture was thrifted and mismatched, but he appreciated the compliment all the same. “Thank you.”

She hesitated for a moment, then gave up on hiding whatever parcel she was carrying, setting it on the floor so she could throw her arms around him. It startled him a little, but she held him tight and he quickly allowed himself to reciprocate with a squeeze.

“I'm so happy for you.” she said. “So proud of you.”

Oh, he could have held on forever. She felt so warm and perfect in his arms, and she smelled of roses, as always. She continued to hold him as tightly as he was, neither of them quite ready to let go.

“Miss Belle!” Bae shouted from behind.

“Hi Bae!” she said, finally breaking their embrace so she could crouch down to his eye level. “This is a nice place you and your papa have got here, isn't it? Aren't you excited?”

“Mhm!” He nodded. “...What's that?” he asked, pointing at the box she'd brought in.

Belle chuckled and looked back up at Lennon. “It's something for your papa.”

Bae's smile drooped a little at that. “Oh.”

“Don't worry.” she assured, reaching into her purse and taking out a much smaller, slimmer package. “I have something for you, too. Go on– open it.” she said, handing it to him.

His face lit up again and he tore the gift wrap to shreds, revealing a small sketchbook and a tin of colored pencils. He immediately popped the tin open and admired the colors. “Cool!”

“Do you like them?”

“Yeah!” he smiled, “I don't have some of  _ these _ colors!”

Lennon cleared his throat. “What do we say, Bae?”

“...Oh.” his face turned red. “Thank you, Miss Belle!”

“You're very, very welcome, Bae.” she chuckled, pulling him in for a hug and pressing a kiss to his temple. “Why don't you try them out while I talk to your papa for a bit, hm? And then you can show me later.”

“Okay!” he beamed, and with that, he was off to the kitchen table.

Belle rose back to her feet and picked up the larger package again, and from the way she was gripping it, Lennon could see that it was rather heavy, but not terribly so. “For you,” she said, biting back a smile.

He stared at it hesitantly, furrowing his brows. “What for?”

_ “You. _ Consider it a housewarming gift. I guess.”

“Oh.” He chuckled nervously and accepted it from her, and judging by the expectant gleam in her eyes, she wanted him to open it now. He slid a finger underneath one of the flaps and removed the gift wrap carefully, trying not to tear the beautiful paper. Cornflower blue, with metallic gold vines that spawned big, white blossoms. He let it float to the ground in one piece, then carefully opened the the box, pulling back the layers of matching tissue paper. The effort she’d put into the packing alone warmed his heart.

It was fabric. Several yards each of different kinds. Silk, lace, linen, chiffon. Some solids, some florals, all beautiful. He couldn't help grinning like a fool at the possibilities.

“Belle, this is–  _ thank you.” _

“You've got your own place now. You and Bae, you're free to decide your own fate. You should… you should do what makes you happy.”

“Thank you. I–I will.” He set the box down and reached toward her, but hesitated. “Belle–” He gave in and went for it. Threw his arms around her and pulled her close. “I could never thank you enough, for everything you done for me and for Bae. Your kindness.”

“Thank  _ you.” _ she said. “For… always being there for me.”

“Well, of course.” he said, pulling her closer. “Anything, Belle. I–” He cut himself off before the other two words could come out.

She pulled away slightly to look him in the eyes, not saying a word. He swallowed and suddenly it seemed like his breathing had become excessively loud. Her lips were pressed into a thin line, and the tip of her tongue poked out to wet them. She stretched up on her toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek, then pulled back with a timid smile.

Lennon coughed and glanced away, unable to look her in the eyes because he knew he was blushing. “You know… I– I think I've finished your dress.” he said. “We could do another fitting whenever you have the time.”

“Oh.” She blinked. “Well… actually I have my shoes and everything in the car? We could–”

“Oh. I– I mean, if you don’t have any–”

“If  _ you _ don't mind.” she said. “I know you're still unpacking.”

“No, no. It's fine.” he assured. “I mean, the sooner the better with these things, ye know?”

“Yeah. You’re right. I'll um–” she stuck a thumb out toward the front door. “I'll go get my stuff.”

“Yeah.”

She flashed a quick smile and slipped out the door, returning a minute later with a large shopping bag. Lennon gave her his bedroom to change in, and soon enough she came out, a vision in white that stole his breath away. Bae abandoned his drawing as she stepped back into the living room, taking a seat on the couch and watch the activity unfolding.

“Zip me?” Belle asked.

Lennon smiled and stepped behind her, letting out a little scoff when he found the zipper had caught in the same spot as it did last time. He zipped her up, effortlessly this time. Taking out the bodice had been a success, and she didn't need to suck her tummy in this time to make it fit. The fabric skimmed her soft curves now, rather than squeezing and digging into them, and he could tell how much more relaxed her posture was now. He dragged his fingers along the seams at her waist, and this time he was actually able to pinch a bit of the fabric away.

“How does it feel?” he asked.

“Oh,” she chuckled, “so much better.”

“Good.” He smiled and stepped in front of her, inspecting his work. The collar wasn't quite laying flat against her neck and would need to be taken in, but he was pleased with the fit everywhere else, and the hem seemed to be perfect. “I'm glad.”

She was staring ahead, out the window, and it occurred to him that he didn't have a mirror out.

“Oh. Hold on.” he blushed, hurrying to his bedroom to grab the mirror he had hanging over the door. He hitched back over and held it up for her to see, taking a moment to find the right angle.

“Right there.” Belle said. “That's good.”

The mirror obstructed his view of her, so he couldn't see her reaction, nor was she saying anything. But he could see her shadow dancing along the floor as she spun around, admiring her reflection.

“What do you think?” he asked.

She didn't seem to answer at first. She must have nodded though, because she quickly uttered a belated, “It's beautiful. You– you did a beautiful job.”

“You look really, really pretty, Miss Belle!” Bae chimed in as Lennon set the mirror down. “You look like a princess!”

She giggled at that. “Thank you, Bae.”

“Mhmm!” he hummed and hopped off the couch. “I'm gonna draw you now.” he said, going back to the kitchen.

“Oh.” she chuckled awkwardly, turning to Lennon and fighting back a smile. And was she  _ blushing? _

He stepped up to her, and took her hands in his. “You look… so, so beautiful, sweetheart. And–” he paused when he realized he was tearing up and sniffled. “I'm… happy for you. Truly.”

She nodded with a tremulous smile on her face, her chin wobbling on the verge of tears. She threw her arms around him again, burying her face in his chest. “Thank you.” she sniffled. “Thank you so much. You don't understand–” she said and drew a shaky breath. “how much it means to me, that I can wear mom's dress.”

“I know, sweetheart.” he whispered, patting her back. “But I… I like to think that she's always with you. In your heart, in everything that you do.”

She nodded against his shoulder. “Yeah.”

“I may not have ever known your mother, but… I know she would be proud of the woman you are, Belle. Any parent would have to be. You help people, you see the good in them, and when it isn't there… well, you make it.”

She choked out a sob and he held her tighter, cooing words of comfort and making soothing strokes up and down her back until she calmed herself down. She drew a final, deep breath and slowly peeled herself away from him with a rueful smile.

“Alright?” he asked.

She wiped her nose with the back of her hand and nodded.

“Well, ah… go on. Move around a bit.” he said, gesturing around the room. “Let me know if anything's too tight, or doesn't feel right.”

She nodded again and began walking around the room. She sat on the loveseat and shifted around. Got up. Walked around again. Bent this way and that. Twisted left, twisted right. She looked up at him with an approving smile and strut in a few circles before finally giving him a big twirl. The heavy skirts lifted up a little and she let out a soft little laugh, but as she stopped to face him, she stumbled and fell into him.

“Oh!” she gasped and reached out to him for balance, and he gripped her tightly, almost falling down with her.

“Easy!”

“Sorry,” she chuckled.

Lennon shook his head. “You're fine.”

She didn't let go of him right away. Instead she turned to face him better, and smiled down at his hand on her arm.

He cleared his throat. “Alright?”

She nibbled her lip and nodded.

“Good. So… so how is it?”

“Well… it has to be good for dancing.” she said, wiggling her brows and guiding his hand to her waist.

“Oh.” Lennon swallowed hard. “Well, I ah, I suppose that's true.”

“Dance with me.”

He scoffed. “Belle, my leg– I can't–”

“Slow. You can lean on me.”

He shouldn't. He really, really shouldn't. But how could he refuse? If she wanted to dance with him, then by gods, she was going to dance with him. He could allow himself this much, he decided, and a smirk crept across his face.

“Miss French.” he said with a little bow, “Would you care to honor me with a dance?”

She giggled and lidded her eyes demurely. “Why yes. I think I would like that very much, Mr Gold.”

She accepted his offered hand, and he dipped down to press a kiss to it. He rested his other hand on her waist and she scoot closer, getting toe to toe with him and placing a hand on his shoulder.

Her quiet laughter was in his ear as they started to sway together. There was no music of course, but just the shuffling of his feet and the tapping of her heels on the wood floors. The rustling of her dress. The sound of their breaths. He felt her tentatively rest her head against his shoulder and her body relax, and he wondered if she could feel the way his heart was pounding in his chest. If he could, he’d take this moment, wrap it up, and place it in a box for safe keeping, so that he might come back to it tomorrow, in a week, a month, a decade, and enjoy it again.

But soon her laughter turned into sniffing. Lennon tried to pull away so he could see her face, but she only pulled him closer. He decided to let her be, to just keep swaying and circling around the room. The sniffling only grew louder though, and he could feel each of her trembling breaths as if they were his own.

“Belle, sweetheart,” he whispered, “what's wrong?”

She choked out a sob and buried her face in his shoulder, shaking her head.

“Shh… shh… it's alright, sweetheart.” he whispered, slowing their steps to a stop. He took her in her arms, moving his hands from her waist to rub her back and stroke her hair while she continued to cry. “What’s the matter? What’s got you so upset?”

“I can’t do this.” she said, rubbing the tears off of her cheek with the back of her hand. “I don't want this.”

“Belle–” he didn't know what to say to that. What he wanted to say. What he should say.

“What am I doing?” she said. “How did I get here?” Her breaths started racing out of control.

“Shh… let's– let's sit, aye?” he hushed, leading her back to the couch. She clutched onto his hand as they sat down, squeezing so hard that it hurt. She was gasping for breath, and Lennon didn't really know what else to do, so he just sat and he waited.

He saw Bae peeking from the kitchen to see what was going on. “...What's wrong with Miss Belle?” he asked.

“She… She just needs a minute,” he said, and he hoped he was right. He waved him off and turned back to Belle, letting her squeeze and cry as much as she needed to. After several minutes, she seemed to have exhausted herself.

“Belle?” he asked, “Are you alright?”

She nodded slowly, stiffly, but she was clearly far from alright. He let out a little scoff at her stubbornness. At her insistence that she was fine. He took her hands and rubbed little circles into them with his thumbs.

“Do you want to tell me what's going on in that head of yours, sweetheart?”

She shook her head. “I can't–” she said. “I can’t do it. I can't marry him.”

“Oh, Belle…” he whispered, combing her sweat-dampened hair out of her face. “What makes you say that?”

“I don't love him.” she blurted. “Lennon, I-I can't do this. I need talk to– I need to stop it.”

He glanced down at the floor and let out a deep sigh. He'd thought about this moment. Fantasized about it. Belle telling him that she didn't love Greg. He'd hoped for it. Even suspected it at times. But it was a selfish indulgence. She was his best friend, and he ultimately wanted her to be happy– even it that meant marrying a man he thought was an absolute prick. He wouldn't dare push it, suggest it, plant the idea in her head, that she leave him. Belle had chosen Greg, and he had to trust in that choice and support her. Hearing her say it now didn’t make him feel vindicated. It just made him feel guilty. Like it was somehow his fault.

“Belle, I know it's scary.” he said. “Marriage. I-It's a big step. But you… you said it yourself. He's a good man, he'll take care of you.”

“I don't want to be _ taken care of.” _ she said. “I wanna be– I wanna be happy.”

“And I want you to be happy too.” he said. “More than anything. And that's– that's why I think you should think about this, Belle.  _ Please. _ What you have with Greg, it's… it's something? ...Isn't it?”

“I don’t know.” she shook her head and pushed herself back to her feet. “God! I’ve been such a hypocrite!” she said. “Pushing you and  _ pushing you _ to choose your happiness while I’ve just been ignoring my own!”

“No,” he whispered. “Belle, you’re not–”

“I’m sorry, but I need to go.”

“Belle, wait–”

She stormed back into the bedroom to change, and Lennon felt powerless to stop her. The door slammed shut and he could hear her sobbing through the thin walls. He stepped up to the door, debating whether or not to go after her, but soon the crying stopped. He heard her let out a frustrated groan, and he rubbed a hand over his face. Give her her space, he decided.

“...Lennon?”

He perked up. “Yes? I’m right here, Belle.”

The door opened and she poked her head out, a strange smile on her tear-dampened face. “Can you um, unzip me please?”

He blinked, and she snorted.

“Of course.” he chuckled. He waited for her to turn around, but instead she walked back into the bedroom, and he had to follow after her. He brushed her hair off of her shoulders and took the zipper between his fingers.

“I’m sorry.” she said. “For putting you–”

“Don’t.” he said. He let go of the zipper, placed his hands on her shoulders, and sighed. “Belle. I don’t know what you’re thinking about doing when you leave here. I’m not going to try to stop you. I doubt I could even if I tried, and well, that’s... I admire that about you. I’m not going to tell you what to do, or that you’ll regret it. But– I guess what I’m trying to say is that no matter what, I… I’m always going to be here for you, Belle. …Try to support you, your choices, however I can.”

She pressed her lips into a thin line and nodded. “I know, Lennon.”

With that, he pulled the zipper down and left her to undress.


	10. Chapter 10

She was in love with him. She’d struggled and fought and denied it for two years, but over the two nights she’d spent holed up the library, she’d come to accept it. Lennon Gold, who made her smile and laugh. Who always listened with interest when she went off about her favorite book, or her latest ideas for the library. Who always made a bad day better. Whose smile never failed to set her heart aflame. Who, in spite of everything, still loved and cared so deeply.

She had to stop this farce of a wedding. That much was clear now, and as she stepped up to the immaculate colonial, she held her chin high. She took a deep breath and thrust the front door open before she could talk herself out of it. Once again, the TV blared out at her, but before she could make it halfway to the den, it shut off. She froze and watched as Greg’s silhouette appeared at the end of the hall.

“Where have you been?”

“The library.”

“Doing what?” hr asked. “I haven't seen you in  _ days!” _

“I was thinking.” she said.

Greg scoffed and stepped closer, and the light in the hall finally illuminated his face. “You  _ think _ too much.”

She chose to ignore that comment. “You were right.”

He folded his arms over his chest, standing tall with a smug grin on his face. “Right about what? You'll have to be more specific.”

At that, whatever doubt Belle may have had about going through with this breakup vanished. “You were right to be jealous.” she said.

He narrowed his eyes and took another step toward her.  _ “What?” _

Belle swallowed, trying to quench the sudden dryness in her mouth. “I left the other day to stop by and congratulate Lennon on the new house.”

Greg scoffed. “Congratulate him on _ that _ place?” he said, pulling a face.

“Yeah, Greg.” she snipped. “On  _ that _ place.”

“Oh, great. Here we go.” he rolled his eyes.

She shot him a cold, chastising look, and he glanced away, fidgeting a little.

“...I’m listening.” he said, gesturing for her to continue.

“While I was there, we did another fitting for my dress.”

He shrugged and shook his head. “What… are you trying to tell me that you slept with him?” he snickered.

“No.” she said. “But… I was checking the fit, and I asked him to dance with me.”

“Um… okay.” He said, his eyes darting left to right, looking for the point.

Belle heaved a sigh. She was going to have to spell it out for him, apparently.

“What?” he asked. “So you kissed him?”

“No, but– I wanted to.”

Greg paced in front of her and rubbed a hand over his face. “Okay…” he shrugged, and threw a hand up, failing to understand how this information was any concern to him.

Belle knit her brows together and tilted her head. _ “Okay?” _

“I suppose I could forgive you.”

“F-Forgive me?” she blinked.

“Yeah. I mean, if we're being honest with each other, I've done a lot more than  _ wanting _ to kiss other women.”

_ “Excuse me!?” _

“Look, babe,” he said, “clearly we've both made mistakes, it wouldn't be fair of me to hold you to some kind of double standard. I’m willing to move past it–”

“I'm not asking for your  _ forgiveness, _ Greg.” she cut in. “I– I-I’m not trying to… clear my conscious!”

“Then why are you telling me this?”

“I”m breaking up with you, Greg!”

“What!? Why?”

Belle closed her eyes and rubbed her temples. “Are you even listening to a  _ word _ I’m saying?”

“...Of course I am!”

“I can't go through with the wedding! I can't– I can't  _ marry _ you, Greg!”

“Oh!” he laughed– a deep, haughty, thunderous thing. “Because you think you're in love with that bum?”

“His name is Lennon.”

“What do you think's gonna happen, babe? You're gonna leave me– all this,” he gestured around the house, “and run off with some unemployed loser to live in a shack somewhere? And it’ll all be just fine because you're in _ love?”  _ he scoffed. “Christ, Belle. Grow up.”

“What the hell is wrong with you!?” she asked. “Do you even hear yourself?”

“You really wanna get into an argument this soon before the wedding?”

She bit her tongue and took a deep breath. “There isn't going to be a wedding.”

“Seriously?” Greg said, rising to his feet and resting a hand on her shoulder. “You're seriously calling off the wedding?”

She brushed his hand away and took another step back. “Yes.”

“You're leaving me for that old crippled loser?”

“Yes.” she said. “Yes I am. Because you clearly have no respect for me, or any regard for anyone other than yourself!”

“What are you talking about! Of course I do! I love you!”

“No, you don't! If you loved me, you would at least  _ try _ to care about the things I care about, instead belittling them and calling them a waste of time!” She spun on her heels, storming back to the front door.

“Babe, come on! Don't do this!” Greg shouted, following after her and grabbing her arm. “Get back over here!” 

“Don't touch me.” she grit through her teeth, yanking herself away from him and opening the front door.

“What? You're just gonna leave me right now, like this? All your shit is still here!”

“I have a key.” she reminded him without a glance. “You won't have to worry about all of  _ my shit _ when you get home from work tomorrow. Trust me.” She said, and slammed the door.

  
  


*****

  
  


Lennon had just sat down in the living room with his sketchbook. It was old and worn, the pages misshapen and crumpled from being tucked under his mattress all those years ago. He'd almost forgotten he still had it. It felt strange, to be sitting out like this in the open, and he had to keep reminding himself that not every noise he heard was his mother, coming to laugh at and ridicule him. None of them were. Not anymore. He flipped through the pages, smiling at some of the designs his younger self had dreamt up, while feeling tempted to tear out and burn others. He had the box of fabrics Belle had given him on the floor beside him, and he occasionally plucked one of them out– examining the pattern, the color, the sheen, how it might drape.

He'd made shepherd's pie for dinner, and while he missed the generous counter space, deeper sink, and larger oven his mother's kitchen had to offer, it felt good to prepare a meal for just him and Bae, and for them to eat alone together. It had been a few days since they moved in, but they still didn't talk at all at the table. It was a comfortable silence though. A peaceful one. As if they'd both been running, running, running, and were now finally enjoying the chance to stop and catch their breath.

Lennon's phone buzzed where he had placed it on the arm of the loveseat. It was late. Past Bae's bedtime, if he was honest. He reached over to pick it up, and he hesitated to check the caller ID. But once he did, he answered immediately.

“Belle?”

“Hey. Lennon, it's me.” Her voice was small and weak sounding, and it set him on edge.

“Hey.”

“Look, I'm sorry to bother you this late but– Do you think you could come meet me at the library?”

He sat up on the edge of his seat. “When?”

She chuckled uncomfortably. “Um… now? Well, a few minutes? As soon as you're able, really.”

Lennon’s heart pounded in his chest. He looked across the living room at Bae, who was still hunched over his own sketchbook. “Belle, is something wrong?” he asked in a hushed tone, so as not to attract his son's attention.

“No. Actually, well… I'll explain. But no. I'm fine, I'm okay.”

“Oh.” He took a deep breath and eased at that. “Well, it's just Bae. I-I can't leave him. You know–”

“Right. Right, right. I'm sorry. Um… I could come over there?”

“You're alright to drive?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I'll be okay.”

“Alright. Well… be careful, please?”

She let out a little chuckle at his fussing. “I will.”

“I'll see you soon, then?”

“Yeah. Thank you.” she said, hanging up before he could say anything else.

He took a few minutes to put Bae to bed, seeing to it that he’d used the toilet and brushed his teeth before tucking him in. He spent the next several minutes pacing around the apartment, tidying things that didn't need tidying. Adjusting the throw pillow on the couch. Nudging the newspaper a little so that it was lined up with the edge of the end table. Straightening the row of shoes by the front door. Anything to keep himself occupied while he waited for a knock on the door, until finally, it came.

He opened the door and without a word, she immediately stepped inside to give him a hug. He invited her to sit, and for a few minutes all she did was stare at the page he'd left open in his sketchbook– a half rendered design for a blouse using one of the new fabrics.

“That's pretty.” she said.

“Belle.” he sighed, grabbing her hand and her attention. “Belle, what's going on?”

She turned to look at him slowly. “I left him.” she said.

“Belle, I–” he stammered. “...Why?”

“I had to. I wasn’t happy.”

She was clutching the hem of her skirt, picking at it, running her fingertips along it, studying it. She looked so small and lost, he thought, and seeing her like this made  _ him _ feel lost too. She stopped fidgeting and looked up at him. Her eyes swept over his face, but she remained expressionless.

She wasn't happy with Greg after all. But for how long? He'd considered it, but should he have said something to her? Was that not his duty to her as a friend, to have pointed out all the little signs he saw that told him something wasn't right? He'd kept quiet because it seemed self-serving to do otherwise. Like he'd have been putting his own ridiculous jealousy ahead of her happiness. Had he instead simply ignored her sadness? Had he failed her in that regard? He supposed whatever the case, she hadn't been happy, and she'd been so terribly close to committing herself to that unhappiness.

“Oh, Belle–” he choked out, pulling her in for a hug. “I'm so sorry.”

She splayed her hands over his back and buried her face into his shoulder without a word.

“I should have– I don't… I’m so sorry.”

“Don't be.” she mumbled, her voice muffled through his shirt.

He pulled away to look at her, and she already looked so much stronger, so much more certain, so much more  _ Belle, _ than she did a minute ago. “If there's anything I can do, just say it, and I–”

“You already are.” she said with a soft little chuckle, her lips curling slightly into a smile.

He furrowed his brows. “I don't understand.”

"My first thought after I left.” she said, “was that I wanted to see you.”

“What for?”

“Nothing,” she chuckled and shook her head, laying it back against the loveseat. “You just… always cheer me up.” she said, and her eyes fluttered shut as another content grin spread across her face.

He didn't know what to say to that, but she seemed to be alright, and for that he was grateful. He cleared his throat. “Can I get ye anything? Something to drink, something to–”

She opened her eyes and wet her lips. “...Can I sleep over?”

“Oh.” Lennon blinked. “Ah… of course you can.” he said. “You can take my bedroom, I-I’ll sleep out here.” He pushed himself up with his cane and offered her his hand. “Come, let's get you–”

“No, this is fine.” she said, shifting on the couch to lie down. She tugged at the throw blanket he had draped over the back of the loveseat, letting it fall on top of her. “I don't wanna put you out.”

“You wouldn't be–”

“I'm fine,” she said, nestling her head against the throw pillow and closing her eyes. “Honest.”

“Well, then at least let me get you a change of clothes.” he insisted, hitching into the bedroom. He rummaged through his dresser for anything that would suffice as pajamas, but when he returned to the living room, he found her already asleep. He ditched the clothes on the end table and watched her for a moment before adjusting the blanket over her body, covering her feet and pulling it up to her chin. “There you are, sweetheart.” he whispered, and pressed a light kiss to the top of her head.


	11. Chapter 11

He didn't know at what point he'd managed to stop worrying about Belle long enough to fall asleep, but suddenly he found himself waking up to the sound of a gentle knocking on his bedroom door.

“Lennon?”

He lifted his head up off the pillows and peered through the darkness. “Belle? Is something wrong?”

“No, just... I can't– Can I come in?”

He hesitated and rubbed his eyes. “It's open.”

There was the turning of the doorknob, then the creaking of the door itself as she slowly pushed it open. The dim light from the kitchenette leaked into the bedroom, silhouetting her and illuminating the surfaces of the furniture with a warm, incandescent glow that disappeared again as she shut the door behind her. She stepped forward and sat beside him on the bed, the mattress squeaking and dipping under her weight, but her eyes seemed to be fixed on the floor.

“Belle?”

“Can– could I… could I maybe sleep in here with you tonight?”

“What.” He wasn't sure if he'd spoken the word, or only thought it.

“I just… I'm not looking forward to having to deal with everyone tomorrow. I'm sure Greg will call me again. Then he'll call my father, and he'll call me. Ruby will found out sooner or later. All of them, feeling like I owe them some kind of explanation. I just feel like a horrible person and I know I'm not, but I just  _ feel _ like shit right now and you always make me feel better.”

“...Aye.” he finally nodded, shifting further to the side of the bed and pulling the covers down. “Of course.”

She gave him a wan smile and climbed into bed beside him. “Thank you.”

“It's no matter.”

She settled comfortably against the pillows, facing him. He tried to ignore it, to just close his eyes and go to sleep. But he could feel her eyes on him.

“You don't think I'm a bad person, do you?” she mumbled. “Or that I'm… overreacting, or I don't know.”

“Not at all.” he whispered, blinking his eyes open and looking at her. “You did what you felt was right. Followed your instincts.”

In the moonlight, he could see her lips twisting into a thoughtful little pout. “Is it really my instincts, though? Maybe it  _ is _ just cold feet. Maybe I'm making a fool of myself. Being afraid. A coward.”

“You're no coward, Belle.”

“It just seems like… like why did I wait so long, you know? Why now?”

He sighed and wet his lips. “I dunno. I think sometimes we just ignore the things we don't want to see. For as long as we can.”

“Hm.” She fidgeted slightly, inching closer to him. Her knee butt up against his thigh and he clenched his eyes shut. “I suppose you're right.”

“My mother–” he found himself saying, “I always thought she was such a strong woman. I looked up to her. I never thought to question anything she did, growing up. But when it was Bae on the receiving end of all those things… I had no choice but to see it all for what it really is, you know?”

“Yeah. I think I got so used to people telling me that Greg was everything I wanted in a man that started to believe it. Getting married became this goal to me, you know?”

“Hm.”

“But then…” she trailed off and squirmed a little closer against him.

Lennon furrowed his brows. “...Then what?”

She smiled. “You moved to Storybrooke.”

“I moved to Storybrooke?”

“Mhmm. You came to the library that first day and signed up for your library card.” she said with a little chuckle. “The card machine wasn't working, and I just remember how patient and sweet you were. And the way you held your son's hand as you looked around, and you smiled at everything he had to say. There was just something in your eyes that told me,  _ there's good in him.” _

Lennon could feel his heart beating faster at her confession. “Oh.” was all he could manage.

“I love it when you take Bae to the library after school. I always look forward to seeing you, and I'm always disappointed when I realize it's time to close up and you haven't come in.”

He didn’t know what to say to that, so he just stared back at her with his mouth open. 

“When he proposed, I didn't even think about it. It was just like, the next logical step– _ Of course I'll marry you. _ And it wasn't until then that I started to realize that maybe that goal wasn't something I actually wanted. I didn't feel excited about it.”

“I… I noticed.”

“I think I just… needed to believe I wanted it, because it was the only way I could justify it.”

“I know what you mean.”

She hesitated, then clumsily pushed herself up on her elbows so she could look over him. “Could I kiss you?”

“What?”

“I'm sorry,” she shook her head, “I just– I want to know…”

“Know what?”

“How it might feel. With you.”

“Oh.”

“You're my best friend.” she said. “But I think… well, maybe– maybe I’d like to um…”

“Yes.”

“Huh?” she blinked.

“Yes.”

She bit down on her lip hard. 

“I wouldn't mind it.” he said. “If you… kissed me.” His heart was racing now, and he got the sudden feeling that he shouldn't have said that. Not without letting her know the truth. “Belle, you should know that I– I've always…” The words were in him,  _ somewhere, _ but they refused to come out.  _ I've always loved you. _

A knowing smile slowly took hold of her lips. “...Me too.”

She stretched over to plant a kiss on his cheek, but it wasn't a quick peck this time. She let her lips linger there, and slowly her hand crept up to rest on his shoulder. Before he knew what he was doing, Lennon turned his face to catch her lips for proper kiss.

She let out a tiny moan and pulled herself closer to him. The feeling of her lips on his own was dizzying. The warm bliss of stepping outside on a sunny spring day. But before he could process it all, she was already pulling away from him.

He waited. Waited for her expression to sink into regret. Disgust. The realization that this was a mistake. But instead she only pressed her lips against his again, kneeling over him and cupping his face in her hands.

“I love you.” she said breathlessly as they parted again.

“Oh, Belle...”

He let his hands slip around her waist and shifted in bed a little. A little moan escaped her, and he felt it in his groin more than he heard it with his ears. Her lips parted and her tongue poked out, asking to be let in. He opened for her, happy to let her take control while he enjoyed the sensation of her tongue sliding over his again and again.

He bit down slightly, letting his teeth rake over her tongue as she retreated. She responded with another interested moan and slipped in and out of him a few more times so she could enjoy the sensation again. She tucked a hand under his shirt, sliding it up his smooth chest. Her thumb swept over his nipple a few times, not quite tickling him, and she soon slipped out from his mouth so she could nip and tug at his lips.

Lennon found his hands climbing from her waist and up to her neck to draw her closer. Her hand wandered back down his chest, along his sides, and down to his hips, where she finally cupped him.

It had been so long since anyone had touched him, and if he wasn't hard yet, he certainly would be soon. She rubbed him through his bottoms and he groaned with pleasure. “Belle. Belle, stop–”

She pulled away immediately, her features wrought with mortification. “Oh God, I’m sorry, I thought–”

“No, no…” he chuckled. “Belle I just–” he took her adventurous hand in his, rubbing his thumb to and fro across her skin. “Maybe we shouldn't.”

“Why not?”

“You’ve clearly had a long day. I-I... I wouldn't want to– to take advantage…”

Belle shook her head. “I want this, Lennon.” she said. “I want you. It's… taken me a while to realize it, but I do.”

“No.” He started to sit up. “You can't, Belle. You can't want me like...  _ this.” _ he said, gesturing at their bodies. “I'm not–”

“But I do.” she assured with a little smile, tucking his hair behind his ear. “And you are.”

“You– You're certain?”

She nodded. “I am.”

“I don't want you to do something you'll regret.” he said, and he choked on those last few words, tears stinging his eyes as they reached his ears.

“The only thing I regret, Lennon, is that I didn't do anything about it sooner.”

He looked up at her, and he was so completely full of awe. His hand reached up to brush her hair over her shoulder, his fingers combing their way through the stands at the nape of her neck and drawing her closer. She wet her lips and leaned in, letting their lips collide and dipping her tongue into his mouth.

He opened up for her again without a thought, the taste on her tongue feeling so natural and right to him. His hand drifted downwards until it settled on her hip. She gave another little moan of encouragement and then pulled away, getting up on her knees she she could clutch the hem of her shirt and pull it over her head.

He almost felt as though he shouldn’t be watching as she reached around her back to unclasp her bra, but gods, was she beautiful.

“You're beautiful.” he whispered. “God, so beautiful, Belle.”

She smiled and took one of his hands, gently drawing it up over her breast. “Touch me.”

“Yes,” he whispered with a nod and cupped her breast, enjoying the sensation of her pebbled nipple against his palm. “Anything, Belle.” He rolled his thumb over it, and she whimpered and pressed herself against him. 

Her hand reached to cup his face and claimed his mouth again. “I love you.”

“And I love you, Belle.” he whispered between breaths. “God, for so long.”

Her hand wandered back to his bottoms, pulling him out. He gasped at the sudden spark of pleasure it sent through him as she handled him. She wiggled her bottoms off– first her skirt, and then her panties– then climbed over him, beginning to line them up.

“Belle–” he shook his head. “I’m sorry. I-I don't have any protection.”

“I'm on the pill.” she said, “and Greg always– because it hel–” She shook her head, dismissing the thought. “I'm fine.” She said, but her eyes widened suddenly. “Unless _ you–?” _

“No.” he scoffed at the suggestion. “No, no, no.”

“So…” she nibbled her lip. “Are we ready?”

“You're sure you want to?”

“Oh, yeah.” she nodded and sank down over him, biting down on her lip hard as she adjusted to the feel of him. “Oh, Lennon…”

He was panting, in awe of how perfect she felt around him, and the fact that she _ was _ around him. She buried her face in his neck and began rolling her hips against him in a slow, languid rhythm. She started charting kisses along his throat that had him writhing beneath her. He tried to focus on her– her sounds, the feel of her breaths on his skin– instead of how pathetically close he already was. His hips jerked into her and she let out a gasp.

_ “Mm, yeah.” _ she whimpered, tightening around him.

“Belle… I'm not going to…”

“I don't care.” she said, continuing to grind her hips into him. She quickened her pace and he managed to meet her thrusts a few times before crying out and spilling himself, her name on his lips. She pulled away to see his face, shuddering as he filled her.

As soon as he recovered, Lennon dove in to kiss her again. She moaned against his lips, making no attempt to resist as he guided her onto her back. He pulled out of her and slid a hand between her legs, rubbing circles into her folds before slipping a finger inside her. He stroked her walls until she whimpered his name, her back arching off of the mattress.

He added another finger and continued his efforts with greater fervor, firmer and deeper, until she choked out a sob and collapsed beneath him. Her peppered her body with reverent kisses as she caught her breath, eventually taking his position beside her.

“That was nice.” she said breathlessly, cozying up next to him and resting her head on his chest.

He let out a little scoff and smiled down at her, his arm wrapped around her shoulder and his thumb rubbing to and fro over the skin there. “Agreed.”

With a sigh, she nestled closer against him and closed her eyes. He watched her for a minute, or perhaps it was two, or five, or ten. His hand eventually reached over to stroke her hair, and her lips curled every so slightly into a smile.

“That feels nice.” she mumbled, the words slurred by her sleepiness. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to her forehead, and her smile widened. He did it again, and she opened her eyes to look at him.

He turned to face her better and reached for her hand, lacing their fingers. “I love you, Belle.”

“I love you too.” she nibbled her lip for a moment and gave him a peck on the lips before resting her head back on his shoulder. Her arm draped across his chest and he took her hand, brushing the pad of his thumb over the soft ridges of her knuckles.

  
  


*****

  
  


Lennon slept well that night. A little too well, in fact. A tapping on the bedroom door pulled him from his slumber, and he smiled to himself as the events of the night before returned to his consciousness. Belle's arms were wrapped around him, and he almost couldn't believe it until he felt her shifting beside him. He rolled over to see her face, and her blue eyes fluttered open.

She smiled and let out a big yawn, stretching her arms out. “Good morning.”

He reached a hand up to brush her hair out of her face. “You sleep alright, sweetheart?”

“Very well, thank you.”

The knocking at the door returned.  _ “...Papa?” _

“Oh, God.” Belle whispered, grabbing the sheets to pull them over her bare chest.

“...Yes, Bae?” Lennon called out.

“Papa, I’m hungry.”

He glanced at the alarm clock and rubbed a hand over his face. “I– I'll be right there Bae. Just a second.”

The door creaked open anyway and Bae stepped inside. Belle rolled to the edge of the bed, pulling the sheets up to her chin and feigning sleep.

Lennon did his best to act natural, as if there was nothing strange about him being half naked in bed with Belle, but Bae seemed to not even notice.

“Who's that?” he asked, peering at the other side of the bed. “Is that Miss Belle?”

He let out a chuckle and tried to think of what to say. “Ah…  _ yes. _ She ah, couldn't... sleep... last night.”

“Oh.” he shrugged with easy acceptance. “Hi, Miss Belle!”

Her cover blown, she rolled over and gave him a little wave. “Hey, Bae.”

“I always sleep better with papa, too.” he said.

“Bae,” Lennon said, “why don't you ah... go tinkle, and then we'll see what's for breakfast, hm?”

Bae rolled his eyes. “But I don't have to go!”

“Doesn't matter. You know the rules– Tinkle right before bed and first thing in the morning.”

“Okay…” he grumbled, dragging his feet to the door and out of the room.

Lennon threw the covers off of his body and stretched off the side of the bed, plucking Belle's shirt of the floor. “Here.”

She leaned in to give him a peck on the cheek as she accepted it from him. She threw it on quickly and began looking for her underwear while he rushed to get dressed. He was straightening out his shirt when she came up behind him, wrapping her arms around his chest and resting her head on his shoulder.

He let himself enjoy the touch for a moment before turning around to face her. He took her hands in his. “You're… you're alright? Really?”

“I'm wonderful.” she said, touching her forehead to his. She nuzzled their noses together and pressed a kiss to his lips. “I'm... happy.”

Lennon returned the kiss with a quick peck and smiled. “Me too.”


End file.
